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C'est l'air du temps

de Death Dealer Union

Every tune's been collared
Every word's been hollered
By a certain Mr. Pollard and the songs he sings

Every tune's to die for
Every word's a cipher
About his hunting knife or other valuable things

The celebrated Mr. P
Performs his tracks express for me
They burrow in my head and there they stay
And when a tune escapes his brain
He simply fills it up again
The songs of Mr. Pollard save the day

Every tune's been collared
Every word's been hollered
By a certain Mr. Pollard and the things he thinks

His muse produces like a geyser
It doesn't matter what he buys her
And so it's usually Budweiser that he drinks

When laundromats and lullabies
Conspire to cut me down to size
I tremble like a zebra on display
The flies surprise the telephone
A new parade to call me home
The songs of Mr. Pollard save the day

Cry your knife away
Pollard saves the day
Bands collapse and he will stay
Pollard saves the day

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