Every commercial makes us die, a little bitnEvery pop star makes us doubt, a little bitnEvery new car makes us chokenOn how little air we get and how we get itnnThe celebrity makes us filthy, a little bitnEvery single ad makes us gag, a little bitnEvery photograph makes us agenEach sound bite deafens, each sales event condemnsnnTalk about luck, you tell me, tell me what I gotnYou fucking give it to me, I won, I win a lotnYou’re not happy, well, no one gives a shitnThis is a game and you’re a part of itnMaybe it's time for you to quitnnBecause every new car you buynIt makes the poor baby Jesus crynNothing bought or sold is good for himnFor you, for me, not good for anybody, alrightnnGive me your coins and I’ll spend them away, one by onenGive me the chips and I’ll play them, before the game has begunnNo one is happy and no one gives a damnnNo one can tell me who I am or make me pay them backnnCome on, every new car you buynIt makes the poor baby Jesus crynNothing bought or sold is good for himnFor you, for me, not good for anybody, alrightnnGuitarnnBecause every new car you buynIt makes the poor baby Jesus crynNothing bought or sold is good for himnFor you, for me, not good for anybodynnEvery new car you buynIt makes the poor baby Jesus crynNothing bought or sold is good for himnFor you, for me, not good for anybodynnAnd every bar you passnFilled with musicians who want to kick your assnNothing bought or sold is good for posteritynAnd is not played at this party