Rob Getzschman - Heirs of Pretension Lyrics

One sunday morning, two preachers up the road a-piece
One stealin' chickens, the other poachin' geese
Kidnapped and napsacked, the chickens don't seem to mind
They'll keep layin' eggs til they make a chicken dinner fine
Well the grey goose got shot, but as he fell, he laughed
'Cause when the preacher got him home, his neck broke the blade in half

Now if heirs of pretension strut through your room
With a pyrite smile, spinnin' lies on a golden loom
They don't know nothin' that you can't find on the shelf
And what you really don't know you can only ask yourself

Jesus and Nietzsche sittin' in the south of Greece
Nietzsche says, "Jesus, where would I find such a fleece?"
Jesus replies, "Beneath every garment that you don
"Friedrich, my friend, you have already got it on
"Because your fashion statements, they can't change the truth
"But your statements fashion how it all appears to you"

Now if heirs of pretension strut through your room
With a pyrite smile, spinnin' lies on a golden loom
They don't know nothin' that you can't find on the shelf
And what you really don't know you can only ask yourself

Judas and Shakespeare found a pack of Tarot cards
Judas insists to have his fortune told by the bard
Shakespeare states, "By the noble and besotten
"Judas the apostle, you will never be forgotten
"And though I know you're gonna forego every word that I've said
"You could still change it all if you didn't reach for the bread"

Now if heirs of pretension strut through your room
With a pyrite smile, spinnin' lies on a golden loom
They don't know nothin' that you can't find on the shelf
And what you really don't know you can only ask yourself

Aesop and Churchill starin' at the fall of Rome
Winston whispers in a voice like polished chrome
"Pay up, Aesop. Spin another fable for me
"To explain how one great empire became three"
"Why Winston," Aesop says, "I could tell a hundred or more
"'Cause every life that's lived is just another metaphor"

Now if heirs of pretension strut through your room
With a pyrite smile, spinnin' lies on a golden loom
They don't know nothin' that you can't find on the shelf
And what you really don't know you can only ask yourself

One sunday evening, two farmers up the road a-piece
Both of them notice they're short a couple layin' hens
One of them spits, and swears he's gonna kill himself a hobo
Though the other one knows where every stolen chicken goes
The one gets his gun, and he spends the night in the hutch
While the other one knows he never needed those chickens that much

Now if airs of pretension blow through your room
You ain't bein' asked to be the bride or groom
But a genuine question can't be taken to task
And what you really don't know you can act or you can ask