Lysistrata, you see where there’s hell to pay
When men are driving, no one asks the way
Lesson time now, turn their pleasure into pain
Lead them out to pasture in the freezing rain

You’re fighting these wars over what?
Which one of you will be the coxswain?
The hen house dothe protest
You roosters oughta be ashamed
You destroyed the peace for what?
To find out who has the longest sword
We weave and conceive at home
While our soldiers are out with whores

If you want back in a real bed, bring us out to the table
Think with your brain instead, try it once and see if you’re able
To conquer patriarchal fears, to make nice with your better angels
For justice and majority rule, Athena knows what we should do

(We’re the press), you’ll find the truth in our pages
We know you’ve been oppressed, and lied to for ages
(Tell us what you want), tell us what you plan to do
But first...can you tell us where you bought those shoes?

(We’re the press), misogyny should be criminal
It serves nobody well, and it’s so impractical
(Tell us what you want), come on, let your plans spill
But can you use a different voice? Yours is kinda shrill...

(We’re the press), man-to-man, zone and full court
(We’re the press), a medieval machine of torture
(We’re the press), the crushing of the olive and the grape

(We’re the press) we don’t discriminate
Unbiased in our coverage of love and hate
(Tell us what you want), we’ll consider our arrears
For at least twenty-five hundred years...

(Twenty-five hundred years)
Comin’ at you with nonsense that we’ll call a song
(Twenty-five hundred years)
Next up I’m gonna sing about a woman’s legs
(Twenty-five hundred years)
What do you want to know about her face?
(Twenty-five hundred years)
I’d rather be shallow than "sad"

(Sad) What will I sing about? It’s all I think about
(Sad) It’s a synchronicitous humiliating kick in the nads

(Twenty-five hundred years)
Ooh, baby I love how your dress falls over your marble
(Twenty-five hundred years)
If you were still alive I’d bring you back to my pad
(Twenty-five hundred years)
Tell me baby, which polis did you call home?
(Twenty-five hundred years)
I’d rather be shallow than "sad"

(Sad) What will I sing about? It’s all I think about
(Sad) It’s a synchronicitous humiliating kick in the nads

(Sad, Sad, Sad, Sad)
(Sad) It’s all I think about. What will I sing about?
(Sad) It’s a synchronicitous humiliating kick in the nads

They were the press, now "we too" own their pages
Old boys got canceled now they’re frustrated
(Tell us what you want)
It’s probably too late now
But a modicum of respect would have been nice

We’re fighting these wars over what?
Which one of you will be the coxswain?
The henhouse dothe protest
You roosters oughta be ashamed
We’re fighting these wars over what?
Which one of you has the longest sword
We weave and conceive while you’re out with whores [x2]

Lysistrata, you see where there’s hell to pay
When men are driving, no one asks the way
Lesson time now, turn their pleasure into pain
Lead them out to pasture in the freezing rain.