Song of the Tear-gassed Man by Cirilio F. Bautista

I love it! I love it!
This teargas sanctifies my corrupted soul.
Oh! The divine odor of it, the excitement
better than demos or rock and roll.
Get a load of it, brother, while it’s free,
you may never get another chance;
this is the right stuff, the real McCoy,
pure, imported chemicals from France.
We may not have money in the bank,
no food on the table, no seat on the Love Bus,
but we have secret marshals and policemen
and most of all, we have a lot of teargas.
Get a load of it, brother, while it’s free,
you may never get another chance;
this is the right stuff, the real McCoy,
pure, imported chemicals from France.
We may not have houses and running water,
the taxmen may be running after us,
but we have floods, garbage, Amendment 6,
and most of all, we have a lot of teargas.
Get a load of it, brother, while it’s free,
you may never get another chance;
this is the right stuff, the real McCoy,
pure, imported chemicals from France.
Don’t save your tears, brother, they are meant
to be shed, you cannot turn them into cash,
but if you join me in this martial festival
you’ll get a taste of refreshing teargas.
Get a load of it, brother, while it’s free,
you may never get another chance;
this is the right stuff, the real McCoy,
pure, imported chemicals from France.