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