You Are Not A Riot (An RSVP from David Siquieros to Andy Warhol) - The Coup

You, you are not a riot

You are right-wing terror military assault

You, you are not rebellion

You are a pretty piece of paper that is signed by murderers

You, you are not a riot

You are the tight leather pants on the old ex-general

You, you are not rebellion

I got the invite to your party and I threw it away

You, you are not a riot

You’re an apologetic pad for the judge’s gavel

You, you are not rebellion

You are a sitcom based on a torture chamber

You, you are not a riot

You are the fanfare for the king’s drunken vomit

You, you are not rebellion

I got the invite to your party and I threw it away

A rebellion is both love and lust

And a riot is when lightning hits the right spot

And my painting isn’t finished till it kills you

And it makes you feel more powerful than pills do

A rebellion is both love and lust

And a riot is when lightning hits the right spot

And my painting isn’t finished till it kills you

And it makes you feel more powerful than pills do

You, you are not a riot

You are a condo complete with wall-to-wall carpet bomb

You, you are not rebellion

You’re a well funded beat-down in the boss’s washroom

You, you are not a riot

You’re the cold fish-breath of death at my neck

You, you are not rebellion

I got the invite to your party and I threw it away

You fascist fashionista

You imperial chanteuse

You upper-crusty punk

You pillager’s excuse

You Duke and Disciple of Disconnection

Who fellates the Empire State

Building blank space on your paper

Matching blank looks on your face

A rebellion is both love and lust

And a riot is when lightning hits the right spot

And my painting isn’t finished till it kills you

Or it makes you feel more powerful than pills do

A rebellion is both love and lust

And a riot is when lightning hits the right spot

And my painting isn’t finished till it kills you

Or it makes you feel more powerful than pills do

You get hyped by the font in the death warrant

By the grain of the wood in the electric chair

The accent of the undertaker

By the architecture of police stations

By the reflection on the gun

By the crackle of the flame

You get hyped by the aesthetic of rebellion

No questions asked

You are not a riot