Old MacDonald had a farm… but not anymore. He’s from a banished era, back when you needed a God to pray to for rain, and you depended on your ability, faith, and family. Those days have rusted away, replaced by a corporate executive’s shiny dream: God’s ambivalence mitigated by insurance, trust displaced by lawsuits, ability traded in for stability, and faith rendered obsolete. Food and clothing shows up in a truck, and you can just forget about it. Try providing for yourself, and be prepared to bend over and let the gang of institutions take turns stickin’ ya. Certification, licensing, insurance, financing, mass media marketing, legalities, taxation… where does it end?! It ends when you hang up your sun hat, broke and broken, retire your rubber boots and apply for a job at the grocery store. Unless you join the gang and throw your principles out the window, all you can afford is artificial fabric, chemical deli meat, medicated factory beef, hormonal dairy, old freight eggs, lifeless produce, and comfort food stuffed with patented GMO-starch filler. The dinnertime cowbell was taken down to wait out eternity in an antique shop, its ring replaced by singing drills as they disassembled the barn and fences, while the career-kids coax that ol’ cowboy MacDonald into the minivan that will take him to his new old-folks home in the city…
lyrics
Ol’ McDonald had a farm, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
And on his farm he had some sheep, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
The sheep grew wool for a vest or sweater,
But no one cares, there’s polyester,
Ol’ McDonald had a farm, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
Oh ba ba bada, bad aba, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh
Ol’ McDonald had a farm, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
And on his farm he had some pigs, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
But the permit for makin’ farm fresh bacon
Has been revoked, and the pigs were taken,
Ol’ McDonald had a farm, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
Oh ba ba bada, bad aba, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh
Ol’ McDonald had a farm, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
And on his farm he had some cows, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
But the law said “Freeze! Mad cow disease!”
“Throw away all your beef and cheese!”
Ol’ McDonald had a farm, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
Oh ba ba bada, bad aba, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh
Ol’ McDonald had a farm, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
And on his farm he had some eggs, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
But to be traded, they gotta be graded
At the facility two hundred miles away,
Ol’ McDonald had a farm, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
Oh ba ba bada, bad aba, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh
Ol’ McDonald had a farm, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
And on his farm he had some fruit, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
But he couldn’t beat market price to compete,
California fruit is way more cheap, (<yes I know, bad grammar)
Ol’ McDonald had a farm, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
Oh ba ba bada, bad aba, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh
Ol’ McDonald had a farm, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
And on his farm he had some corn, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
But the lawyer said “No, you cannot sow,
These seeds are owned by Monsanto,” (shit!)
Ol’ McDonald had a farm, eeh-i-eeh-i-oh,
Oh ba ba bada, bad aba,
Eeh-i-eeh-i-eeh-i-eeh-i-eeh-i-eeh-i-eeh-i-eeh-i-oh
Fort Mutiny is a vision. Not a flawless utopia, but a lawless tribe of defiant free-spirits, brewing up a more natural life.
How could such a dream be kindled? Music is a great place to start: uncensored honesty, fueled by personal journals, put to all-acoustic instrumentation. It doesn't matter who wrote it. What matters is that, if you belong at Fort Mutiny, these tunes may help you get there....more
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