Purveyors of credit cards seem to pop up like mushrooms after hurricanes and tsunamis. People left homeless in Southeast Asia and New Orleans can't get jobs or housing, but credit . . .

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Written for a film about credit cards.

Plastic

When the levees, they are leaking,
and the storm has hit you hard,
Help is on the way, my friend,
they send you a credit card.
You can live in a posh hotel room
with granny and cousin Bud,
’til you reach your credit limit,
and you’re back in the rain and mud.

Chorus:
Give me a little more plastic if you please.
It’s the fix for every failure,
disaster, or disease.
From the Rust Belt to the Dust Bowl
to the hole in my own back yard,
Give me a little more plastic,
I can live like a movie star.

In Thailand and Sumatra,
on the shores of tsunami land,
The boys from Chase Manhattan
have come to lend a hand.
Even if you have no income,
that is really quite OK,
Get some plastic, dude,
you are pre-approved—that’s the American Way. (Chorus)

I once had a health and pension plan,
and a union that was fine.
But all those frills and entitlements
are bad for the bottom line.
When they privatize the public schools
and Social Security,
This little piece of plastic should be
good enough for me.

Bridge:
I used to owe my soul to the company store.
Now my soul goes to the banker,
for the things I can’t afford.

Now the private profit system
has reached its highest stage,
Where we put our lives on plastic,
and work for a Walmart wage.
We vote for the plastic candidates
and eat the plastic food,
And there’s even a plastic bullet
to correct my attitude. (Chorus)