Don't tell me humble street thieves aren't best dressed right now,
Their urban fashion is so fresh and new, so muddled and mixed.
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Hell, it's so trendy, it flutters with price tags still on it,
I do wish I could be so bold, to be so currently with it.
And if they could pay, we’d build an economy off em.
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I guess, thank god those unseen foreign slaves, er,
Factory workers, make pillage here so affordable!
The moment centrist media isn’t so fearful of incorporating lefty onliners as legit commentary,
Those voices who managed to sustain in that endless nihilistic spool of online speedy thought,
Instead of just those ineffectual talking-heads lacking direction and speaking kindly to fascists,
Will also be the moment a candidate arises that speaks both languages into a visionary future,
Submitting their pomp and corporate ease to favour discussions focused on the least of these.
But what candidate is brave enough to face wrath's sharp questioning?Â
Who will stand before the lefty people’s court and receive their reckoning?
Who’s voice is strong enough to weather the storm and declare new dawns?
Who has the fortitude to bear the hatred, so all may see how to move forward?
Where is the spectacle declaring favour for working poor,
Where are the protectors of an environmentally sane world?
Where are the debaters who can outpace fascist mouths,
Where are the privileged who will share corporate wealth?
Where are the bureaucrats willing to upend bad process,
Where are the politicians talking to merge the languages?
Where are the governors fiercely defending scapegoats,
Where are the judges who’ll pursue justice over the law?
Where are the generals fighting to bring peace to a blitz,
And where do the good people march united against evil?
Kittywoof wasn’t always dis smelly,
It didn’t a’happn all at once neither.
And really, it’s hard t’even blame someone.
Which ta choose dat hasn't toyed me ferder needs?
A bullfrog, a wolf, a quack, a rat, a cat, a snake, or spider?
Oh I'z gots anger inside dis Pumpkinhead, dats true,
You know how many other pumpkins out there too?
Lotsa dem, and dey heads ben smashed in fierce,
It be dos good seeds inside - fruit’n seeds, ya see.
And Breeds, well, dey love em as a special exotic meal at one time o’year,
Der was an old tradition dey said, way way back, offer'n a pumpkin head.
Happen’d decades ago, treat’n dem pumpkins like strangely special treats.
Now, I'z think dey thought it was inclusive hav’n a pumpkin ta eat at da table,
But dey kinda used a pumpkin parade as an excuse ta forget other animals,
And dat kept drive'n up de’market value on my tawny Twist - and vinery too.
I'z certainly gots ta feel’n more fruity and shiny,
See’n my baked face show’n up fancy places,
Yet, I'z knew der was sumth’n funny happ’n too,Â
Started smell'n all over dis Kittywoof Kingdom.
Sometime after dem Breed’s fancy feast’n,
Folks began dry'n out dem pumpkin seeds,
Started lil collections and trade’n as hobby.
And dey gots ta real value’n by a quick time,
Some creatures coerce value outta anything.
So Pumpkins was first a dressy table front'n,Â
And then, ta a stink’n rat, innards of currency.
And well, you know how a Slick-Fingered Rat Pack operates;
Always edge'n a coin'ed market ta quickest seedy endings.
So dis dumb Pumpkinhead became strangely valuable,
Not fors my vine'n body need'n it, but smash’n for seeds.
It's what makes me so nervous ya see, dat was time ago,
And it's only ben gett’n worse with dat stinker Rottenseed.
Why, dat sweaty lip Fur Pepe ben knock'n on pumpkinhead doors,
Telling’m ta stop fruit’n, or do’n it in defined patches way from others.
Now, dats a funny thing ta say ta a seed popp’n Pumpkinhead,
I'z don’t even realize dey drop'n most time, giv’n away for free,
And in dis age of currency seed, means you be rich follow'n me.
But Pigeonrats just gotta have dat full seed-o-head consumpt’n,
Utterwise, dey wants ya in a monocrop’d patch be'n productive.
And its dem who’ve been putt’n over-value on my fruit’n free ways,
Whether its as a Breed’s feasting, or a raty seed smash'n exchange,
Feels like dey set'n a trap for me, cornered, turn’n me inta sumtin else,
Putt’n value on my fruity needs, hope’n I'z sprout bountiful for der need,
And all da while, not offer'n wild animals things ta meet der basic needs.
Naw, Ima just a dumb Pumpkinhead, but I'z feels when an oven’s be’n warmed,
Tan’t just Kittywoof either, it’s everywhere, an sum places much, much worse,Â
Dey went from feast'n ta coining, ta prison patch’n, and then only smashing.
And dats da grow'n stink - fast a’bake’n pumpkin treats,
Or smashed in pumpkin heads dat be rott’n at your feet!
But it's hard for Kittywoof’s haunt'n nighttime creatures ta know,
Ta’feel da burn of daylight work'n with humble animals in need.
I'z tell’s ya, its scary ta walk a’bout as your strange pumpkinself,Â
Specially when you’ve gots dis oddly carved, seed-spit’n mouth.
Des animals damn hungry, so a walk'n pumpkin might please,
Whether as a pippin on-course, or smashed-in golden currency.
