What Is The Measure Of Your Success?

In this city I confess
I am driven to possess
Answer no one, let them guess
Are you someone I impress?

I am a big boss with a short fuse
I have a nylon carpet and rubber shoes
And when I shake hands you'll get a big shock
You'll be begging for mercy when the champ is through
You'd better believe I'll put the clamps on you

In this city, be assured
Some will rise above the herd
Feed the fatted, leave the rest
This is how we won the west

I am a safebox
I am the inner sanctum when the door locks
I own the passkey
You say you can't take it with you?
We'll see about that, won't we?

In this city I confess
God is mammon, more or less
Off like lemmings at the gun
I know better, still I run

I am an old man, and the word came
But you can't buy time or a good name
Now when the heirs come around
Like buzzards on a kill
I see my reflection in their envious eyes
I'd watch it all burn to another sunrise

Some men find the fire escape
Old men learn it all too late
Push...push...push the alarm
Old McDonald bought the farm

Written by Steve Taylor © 1987 Soylent Tunes

Taylor says, "The optimist in me wants to bronze this song as a museum piece for the materialism-run-amok decade in which it was written; when the measure of a man was his stuff. But since greed is one of the grand, recurring themes of American life, it logically follows in the 1990's that the love of money is the root of all downsizing. If gucci loafers can lead us into greed's snare, so can sensible shoes."
(Taken from liner notes to "Now The Truth Can Be Told")

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