The Countertop Chronicles

"Run by a gun zealot who's too blinded by the NRA" - Sam Penney of

Monday, January 26, 2004

Monday Song Lyric

Over at the Volokh Conspiracy, Juan Non-Volokh has started up a new weekend feature called the Sunday Song Lyric. His first post is a great one - I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry by Hank Williams.

Well, here at the Counterpoint Chronicle, we believe imitation is truly the sincerist form of flattery, as well as one of the easiest opportunities to quickly advance the state of the art. Think Gregg Easterbrooks Tuesday Morning Quaterback to Peter King's Monday Morning Quarterback.

In that spirit, I hereby present you with the Monday Song Lyric.

This week, we look at the lyrics to PC by the band Brute.

Brute, as some of you might know (but most do not) is a collaboration between the Athens, Georgia Hippy Rock Superstars Widespread Panic and the Athens, Georgia singer songwriter extraordinaire Vic Chestnutt. Mr. Chestnutt is known to most people as Dwight Yoakum's quadraplegic bandmate in the Billy Bob Thorton movie Sling Blade. To those familiar with him though, he is often times described as a modern day Bob Dylan. The New Yorker lists his most recent CD, Silver Lake, as one of its favorite dozen from 2003.

I like to think this particular song was written about and/or for their fellow Athenian, Michael Stipe of R.E.M. fame. I could be wrong on that regard, but its certainly fitting for the shallow, ill advised, ultra leftist liberalism thats so in vogue with our media and Hollywood elite these days.


You're so politically correct it crawls down my neck
Smug as a bug in your righteousness
You talk like you're the original socialist
They all sit at you're feet like you are some maharishi
As you knock off all of the easy targets
And knockup all of the tightest teachers pets

And now you are rich man you bought yourself a band
You're talking tough and you're playing loud
You sure know how to please your crowd
They all rally around you in their sweat shop stylie-man suits
Flashing their bright red union cards
Blaring all your CDs from their oriental cars.


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