I ain't gonna work on Dubya's farm no more.

Sorry Bob Dylan

I ain't gonna work on Dubya's farm no more.
No, I ain't gonna work on Dubya's farm no more.
Well, I wake in the morning,
Fold my hands and pray for rain.
I got a head full of ideas
That are drivin' me insane.
It's a shame the way he makes me scrub the floor.
I ain't gonna work on Dubya's farm no more.

I ain't gonna work for Dubya's brother no more.
No, I ain't gonna work for Dubya's brother no more.
Well, he hands you a nickel,
He hands you a dime,
He asks you with a grin
If you're havin' a good time,
Then he fines you every time you slam the door.
I ain't gonna work for Dubya's brother no more.

I ain't gonna work for Dubya's pa no more.
No, I ain't gonna work for Dubya's pa no more.
Well, he puts his cigar
Out in your face just for kicks.
His bedroom window
It is made out of bricks.
The National Guard stands around his door.
Ah, I ain't gonna work for Dubya's pa no more.

I ain't gonna work for Dubya's ma no more.
No, I ain't gonna work for Dubya's ma no more.
Well, she talks to all the servants
About man and God and law.
Everybody says
She's the brains behind pa.
She's sixty-eight, but she says she's twenty-four.
I ain't gonna work for Dubya's ma no more.

I ain't gonna work on Dubya's farm no more.
No, I ain't gonna work on Dubya's farm no more.
Well, I try my best
To be just like I am,
But everybody wants you
To be just like them.
They sing while you slave and I just get bored.
I ain't gonna work on Dubya's farm no more.