Union Drip
I came to be a prophet,
but I’ll settle for pariah

We filled the air with DDT
and called the wind Mariah

We cheer on every victory
in the war against Goliath

Watched them model Christian Smalls
and pose him with Zendaya



They’re gonna milk that Union Drip
Till the very last Simp
Takes the very last sip

And when it’s all wrung dry
And it’s not worth shit
Then they’ll leave it laying right where it is

You can watch them let it all drip into the ditch

Here’s the sitch

Biden will invoke the witch of January 6
as a quick fix
Tell you that she’s here to fill your bellies
with some twigs and sticks
Rocks, berries, and a capitol brick

Concurrently, he’s finger-wagging
all of the republicans
while sucking their proverbial dicks

Fluff em up a couple of concessions
in the flick of a bic

Just need lights, and a camera, and prompter, and someone to monitor the prompter who knows his shit

Joe’s gonna open the show
with a few short words
to be chanted by old white folks,
wearing old white cloaks,
who will March in a circle
around a progressive political star
who is purely a place to spit

But it’s all good fun, and there’s no harm done when the banks yell ‘cut’, and they’re calling it quits

It’s all flint water gone under the bridge
Outta sight, outta mind,
and dissolved in the mist.

Joe’ll only need a flick of the wrist
and the throat of the movement is slit

It’ll sputter and gurgle and choke for a bit
bleed out in a viral clip

And as the last of its life force
flows to the floor,
he’ll say “THAT’S my idea of a Union Drip”

See, the eyes are a glimpse of the soul
So it says a whole lot if they aren’t exposed
And your message is branding
you stamped on your clothes
And the media storm
is wherever you go

Then you go meet Joe,
and you laugh at his quips
and you shake his hand
with a nice firm grip,
And you cry “Good Trouble”
through the loafers on your lips
Too true, that’s a Union Drip.

Who knew that the victory gift for your Unionization’s a DNC script

And it’s nice and precise
like a sniper
Who’s trying to cripple you
right where you live

The target they lead is your wallet,
they seek to dismember your hands
so you can’t feed your family
Or pick up your kids

While they flatter themselves into orgasm
feigning respect for our Unions,
who wired our grids
Who welded our ships
Who died for our rights to not witness our children conscripted to 12 hour shifts
in the mines from the time that they’re FIVE
When they know damn well that the Union had THRIVED til they shattered its hip

Showed up and handed out Pinkerton slips

Now it’s as simple as status and symbol
and making the star of the movement so bright that the movement itself is eclipsed.

Now our mouths grow dusty and dry
on the promise of Union Drips

That trickle down out of a wealthy fist
That is squeezing
the heart of the working class
hard as it can til it finally ruptures and splits
Punctures a valve, and it laughs
at the sound of the squish.

The way that they laugh at the sight of us
Making a wage-slave wish
To a man on the cover of Vanity Fair
saying ‘Eat The Rich’

So This is for those who rely on commissions
Or toil for tips
watching their bosses
drink bottles of profits
while all you get offered
are jugs of their piss

If you seek out the soul
of the movement
Or proof that the movement exists

Try looking in the eyes of Chris

And when you find that you can’t,
then the answer’s as simple as this:

The movement is never one single face
And a drip is a leak
to repair or replace
We won’t eat the rich
to suit expensive tastes,
We’ll consume
cause survivals at stake.