Oh You Survivalists

Oh you survivalists
With your funny little shopping lists
Believe me, I get the gist
Of your point of view

You think the rest of us
Are just zombies with brains full of pus
Well this pus-head wants to make a fuss
And sing a song to you

Doot doo dee doo dee doo dee doo doo
Doot doo dee doo dee doo dee doo doo
Doot doo dee doo dee doo dee doo doo
Doo doo

You want to live off the grid
Like your ancestor Gilligan did
You don’t mind if you find yourself rid
Of people like me

We who never learned to change no tires
Never rubbed two sticks to make fires
Never wanted to do dentistry with pliers
How silly are we!

You’ll live off the land, of course
This land that was never yours
That the government cleared for you by force
You independent man

No one to tell you when your poetry smells
No one to help you with your dried up wells
Who will you call when your prostate swells?
I guess you’ll do what you can

And you might outlive me but you know, it’s strange
When the seasons fail to change
Within a predictable range
Oh, but that’s a lie (sigh)

But at the failure of the fourth harvest
You’re gonna starve to death unless—
Terribly sorry, there is no unless!
You’re just going to die

And you know, that’s not the worst
You’re gonna have to watch you kids go first
In their eyes, a silent curse
And a question: “Why?
“Daddy, why? Daddy, why?”

At the time of calamity
You cut yourself off from humanity
It wasn’t John Wayne vanity!
No, that can’t be true

Oh, you survivalists
With your funny little shopping lists
With the remaining time that exists
I’ll sing a song for you

Doot doo dee doo dee doo dee doo doo
Doot doo dee doo dee doo dee doo doo
Doot doo dee doo dee doo dee doo doo
Doo doo