Mackerel Pouch

Lyrics

[Intro]
Yeah.
Smell that?
That's the new money, man.

[Verse 1]
Used to be the Camel. The Marlboro Man.
A carton was a king's ransom in the can.
Smoke 'em if you got 'em, trade 'em if you smart.
Then the wardens came, tore that whole world apart.
No more nicotine standard, no more paper and leaf.
Left a vacuum, man. A kind of economic grief.
Everybody walking 'round with empty hands, looking for the next thing.
The next... agreed-upon fiction.

[Chorus]
It's the mackerel pouch. Shiny silver suit.
Smells like the bottom of the ocean and the truth.
Three-point-five ounces of promissory fish.
You can buy a man's story, you can buy a man's wish.
Ain't got no president's face on it.
Just a fish in a foil case on it.
Yeah, the mackerel talks. In the yard, in the dark.
The mackerel pouch leaves its oily mark.

[Verse 2]
Commissary truck rolls in every Tuesday.
That's the Federal Reserve, you could say.
They print the new bills, stack 'em on the shelves.
We buy 'em up, try to save ourselves.
'Cause the tray they slide through the slot for lunch?
It ain't got the calories, ain't got the punch.
So a man's gotta hustle. A man's gotta eat.
Turn a shelf-stable fish into something sweet.

[Chorus]
It's the mackerel pouch. Shiny silver suit.
Smells like the bottom of the ocean and the truth.
Three-point-five ounces of promissory fish.
You can buy a man's story, you can buy a man's wish.
Ain't got no president's face on it.
Just a fish in a foil case on it.
Yeah, the mackerel talks. In the yard, in the dark.
The mackerel pouch leaves its oily mark.

[Bridge]
A haircut costs you two.
A clean shirt, maybe three.
Protection for a week?
Man, don't ask me.
It's a honey bun, a book of stamps, a hand-poked tattoo.
It's a three-and-a-half-ounce IOU.
It's the trust you can hold in your palm when there ain't no other kind.
A little silver packet for your peace of mind.

[Outro]
Yeah.
Mackerel.
They say money doesn't grow on trees.
Guess they never checked the commissary list.
Smells like... survival.