Ol’ man Sakis
that ol’ man Sakis
he must know sumthin’
but he don’t speak English
he jes’ keeps throwin’
the synth-black-metal jamz dowwwwwn.
He don’t plant taters
he don’t plant cotton
he’s got more good hooks
than Christ gots rotten
that ol’ man Sakis
he jes’ keeps croakin’ alonnnnnng.
You an’ me, we sweat an’ strain,
while down in Greece, he racks his brain:
“Swear the oath of macro!
Turn the chapter of micro!”
Try to get a little metaphysical in your lyrics,
come off sounding like a psycho —
Iowa teens,
they’ll soon pluck tassels,
an’ I gets tired
of nazi assholes
but ol’ man Sakis
he’s gamely trudging alonnnnnng!