Nah, nah, nah,

Nah, nah, nah,

Lizard People!

Interstate rumble, dashboard rattle, talk radio.

Smoke spinning in the van like a twister,

tongue spinning in his head like a weevil,

spinning past desolated Cotton Belt towns,

endless rows of the Big Mules’ untaxed pines,

blaming it on the Hebrews and the Papists

and the Blacks and the Commies and the Lizard People.

The latest blue-eyed Northern swindle with a trap beat

rattling the tags of a passing German whip, I ask him,

“What’s it like to have the world steal your sound?”

He‘s like, “Dawg, that shit is evil.”

He wipes the sweat from his phone, shows me how the

Satanists and Masons got the whole game beat.

We keep digging that trench in the South Atlanta heat,

like we’re hiding from the Lizard People.

Nah, nah, nah,

Nah, nah, nah,

Lizard People!

In that garden,

tried to buy power with bliss.

Been liable

to play lizard ever since.

We've got the gold dome surrounded.

Yonder stands a bronzed Tom Watson--that old snake,

sent to Atlanta by rent-gouged sons of slaves and serfs,

hungering for freedom, praying for upheaval.

But forked-tongued CEOs and Grand Wizards slithered

in his pocket, hissing, "Throw them off our scent, and

we got you. Sic the Crackers on the Blacks and Jews.

Any heart can ooze cold blood like Lizard People."

Nah, nah, nah,

Nah, nah, nah,

Lizard People!

Everybody’s good.

Everybody’s evil.

But why does it pay

to play like Lizard People?

Everybody’s good.

Everybody’s evil.

But why do we let it pay

to play like Lizard People?