Green Monkeys - Graham Parker
In a distant street a distant beat
Repeats machine gun like
In a forest grows a sweet fruit
Filled with poison
In a clear blue sky a plane bursts into flames
High above us
In an office blind machines blink out data
In a rush
Whatever they say they say
It isn't true what they say
It didn't come from the gays
The blacks the Haitians
Or the whores or
Green monkeys
Or green monkeys