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