What More Can I Say, John?

You have anticipated all the players
Your silent judgement growing
And from time to time you pace the floor
Because you are a-knowing
Yet you cannot stop your sowing
All the stars that symbolise where you're going
And your heavy rains keep growing
Hey, come on, you've got something better to do.

You have hidden your face from the people,
And to them you keep on denying
That far, far away across the sea,
For no reason their sons are dying
While it's Vietnam you're buying
Among all your conservatives a-sighing
And all your murderous lying
Hey, it's me who's defying
Hey, come on, you've got something better to do.

What good are all those documents?
Those well-kept worthless scrolls;
When the hand you bit turns and slaps your face,
The hands you tried to mold,
And they leave you out in the cold,
With your pockets full of gold,
Yet you cannot pay the toll
Of the brave and the bold who are shouting
Hey, come on, you've got something better to do.