Song parody of
Progress
by Phil Spillman
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If you're not moving then you're falling behind
So take all you can get and get your sorry ass back in line
If you're not stuffing your pockets then you're wasting your breath
All in the name of progress
If you're not moving then you're left in the dust
Same fate as your iron you'll weather, you'll rust
If you're not trespassing on time then you're wasting your steps
All in the name of progress
We build up, up, up
Like we are fucking gods
Never thinking whether we should or not
Convinced we are divine
We sing our own hymns
Then we cut down the trees
And name the streets after them
If you're content then I don't know
Why my eye should feel sorry when you lose your throne
If you're satisfied, that's between the devil and you I guess
Bow down to progress
We build up, up, up
Like we are fucking gods
Never thinking whether we should or not
Convinced we are divine
We sing our own hymns
Then we cut down the trees
And name the streets after them
Convinced we are divine
We sing our own hymns
Then we cut down the trees
And name the streets after them
If you're not moving then you're falling behind
So take all you can get and get your sorry ass back in line
If you're not stuffing your pockets then you're wasting your breath
All in the name of progress
If you're not moving then you're left in the dust
Same fate as your iron you'll weather, you'll rust
If you're not trespassing on time then you're wasting your steps
All in the name of progress
We build up, up, up
Like we are fucking gods
Never thinking whether we should or not
Convinced we are divine
We sing our own hymns
Then we cut down the trees
And name the streets after them
If you're content then I don't know
Why my eye should feel sorry when you lose your throne
If you're satisfied, that's between the devil and you I guess
Bow down to progress
We build up, up, up
Like we are fucking gods
Never thinking whether we should or not
Convinced we are divine
We sing our own hymns
Then we cut down the trees
And name the streets after them
Convinced we are divine
We sing our own hymns
Then we cut down the trees
And name the streets after them
