Who will sing these working blues For the working poor Whose souls are oozing Solvent as each day it passes on And after the candidates are gone And everything is said and done Who will sing these working songs The local pollster says he's losing Hide his holster 'cause he's been boozing The candidate don't leave his house unarmed He's heading down to the masonic hall They got a post-election concession ball He's been drinking but nobody seems alarmed Because the angels Are in the chamber They're casting ballots With made up names And all the dead men They'll vote again friend And the angels They'll take the blame His closest advisors said go on, just do it Cut the braking lines and drink the braking fluid They hope that swill brings him screeching to a halt He's been seen out in the streets Firing rounds from his permitted piece Into innocent flesh without no fault Because the angels Are in the chamber They pilot bullets Just like little planes And they'll crash land them Where they are unwanted In the flesh and bone And the angels take the blame The exit pollster say my god he's winning Hide his holster and start the spinning Sober him up for his acceptance speech The sky's the limit, follow your dreams Step over the meek and muffle their screams Nothing we could dream here is out of reach Because the angels Are in the chamber Sleeping with our women to carry on our name And all the children they'll be born of virgins Like little messiahs And the angels take the blame Like little messiahs And the angels take the blame Like little messiahs And the angels take the blame