New Times - Violent Femmes

New Times.

New Times.

New Times

Good morning.

Good morning.

Good morning

I’m the guard.

At one time

This was rather pleasant

The poets they still had to muse

Over the classicism of clean shoes

But who today still knows a button stick

Well, that’s the new times

That’s the new times

That’s the new times

The girls would lie down before us

First one went dancing, then behind the bushes

Today you have to run through twenty places

Get drunk on saccharin and methyl

And then you still don’t get them that far

Well, that’s the new times

That’s the new times

That’s the new times

Now take it easy there in the early morning

Who arrives but the brethren from the press

If somewhere there lies a cadaver

Or something is foul in the state

You can be sure that a writer is not far behind

With his Excellency I only say:

Hands off the literature

The laurel wreath one gets today

Second hand so to speak

From the old Empire’s stories

Sold underhand at the Alexanderplatz

With all the wigs and costumes

Twitching from the shoulder one is informed

Well, that’s the new times

That’s the new times

That’s the new times

New times.

New times.

New times