(Judge: Ahem, Mr Pistaccio. So good to see you. As "retribution" for your crimes, you have been sentenced to be hung by the neck until dead. Have you any final words?
Pistaccio: Just, a few.)

If I were a real boy, you'd cut me from the strings where I swing.
But you've got me hanging by my hands, feet, neck, and,
I'm just a toy.
To have, to hold, and to enjoy.
Mass produced to be discarded, lost,
Destroyed by society.
And the esoteric constraints that weave between
Every single meticulously stitched seam,
That sews us
To the fabrics of corporate lust.
And when they've had their fill we'll all return to
Dust on their souls.
Their intentions clear and hackneyed with tolls.
But this puppet junta will rise up and take control.

(Judge: Is that what you think, Pistaccio? Somebody get this man a nice fuckin' cigar. You've earned it.)

Well I'll be spending frivolous,
While penurious pockets will lust for
All my gold, but I'm too unjust
And too damn smart to give it up.
But it doesn't matter, I've got rows of cars.
I'm getting fatter while your children starve.
You fight to break the mold I've made,
It's an inadequate revolt displayed.

(Give up, give in) I'm gonna take it all away.
(Fight back, you'll sway) You're gonna die today.
(Give up, give in) I'm at the top, I am the king.
(Fight back, you'll swing) Submit to me, mercy I'll bring.
Maybe.

Well he'll be spending frivolous,
While penurious pockets will lust for
All his gold, but he's too unjust
And too damn smart to give it up.
But it doesn't matter, he's got rows of cars.
He's getting fatter while your children starve.
You fight to break the mold he made,
It's an inadequate revolt displayed.

(Judge: You see Pistaccio? Don't you get it? this is all a game. A game of power, and I'm in control. You lose.

Pistaccio: You may win this time, but there are thousands like me. And they're gonna rise up, and someday you're gonna pay-)