Scott SimpsonSongs, Poems, Stories.

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A. Dream

Scott Simpson

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Song information

Writer
Not separately credited
Composer
David Scott Simpson
Artist
Scott Simpson
Release years
2018
Genre
Hip-Hop/Rap

Release years and genres refer to the catalogued recordings. Composition credits follow Apple Music; separate writer credits follow the supplied lyric sources.

Credit sources

Lyrics

January twenty, the nightmare began The seeds of destruction just waiting for a hand To cast them out—not a great big hand Just one on a man who could stand in the curtains and Toss red meat to his Alt Right peeps who were Lookin’ ...for some Fatherland or a slight of hand From a backwards, armband, reprimand Of every stand that was taken by the man in the Office before him— They’re gonna Louis Lamoure him, Gonna Viet Nam war him... Anything-good-that-was-done-before him Is gonna be ripped from the core, then The corporations sucking up the gravy will adore him— As this fake-news, breakthrough, debuts his snake-moves. And how about the words you spewed in the campaign? Inhumane as acid rain... Making light of the pain you’ve left in your wake Like Champaign and no emergency brake, or making Capital Gains on a cholera outbreak... You can’t hide sewage with a handful of Tic-Tacs Or play Casanova with pussy-grab attacks Try to hide it, override it like every time you even tried it She lied—it wasn’t you, it’s all a lie, a sigh, a spy who must’ve Faked a dossier or leaked some hearsay... It couldn’t be the women’s accusations— your Qualifications set you far above the allegations, Destract ‘em with some deportations ‘til you run out The Statute of Limitations... Where is the love? Where is the honesty? Where is the hope that used to be? Where? Where has it gone? Call ‘em names-- crooked, cryin', liddle, lyin' Rocket man and Pocahontas while you stand there looking jaundiced, Laugh, then wash your hands like Pontius... Call collusion an illusion-- a fusion You gotta get some kinda truth infusion cause a lie on a lie on a lie on a lie only sticks an inch-long needle in everybody's eye Surround yourself with Bannon, Kushner, Flynn Ivanka, Sarah, Steven Miller, Kelly Anne... It’s like a swimmin' pool full of bathtub gin-- No "swamp" just a cesspool full of lyin' grins Get your justice from your puppet Sessions To cover all those indiscretions-- EPA, Education, Interior, State Department, Shrinking government for your own enlargement... Get woke— this ain’t no dream, it’s a nightmare. Get woke— this ain’t no dream, it’s a nightmare. Get woke— this ain’t no dream, it’s a nightmare. Get woke— this ain’t no dream, it’s a nightmare. (Repeat to end)

Source: ScottSimpsonAllLyrics (2).pdf · pp. 43–45

Other supplied versions

A Dream Lyrics
January twenty, the nightmare began The seeds of destruction just waiting for a hand To cast them out—not a great big hand Just one on a man who could stand in the curtains and Toss red meat to his Alt Right peeps who were Lookin’ ...for some Fatherland or a slight of hand From a backwards, armband, reprimand Of every stand that was taken by the man in the Office before him— They’re gonna Louis Lamoure him, Gonna Viet Nam war him… Anything-good-that-was-done-before him Is gonna be ripped from the core, then The corporations sucking up the gravy will adore him— As this fake-news, breakthrough, debuts his snake-moves. And how about the words you spewed in the campaign? Inhumane as acid rain… Making light of the pain you’ve left in your wake Like Champaign and no emergency brake, or making Capital Gains on a cholera outbreak... You can’t hide sewage with a handful of Tic Tacs Or play Casanova with pussy-grab attacks Try to hide it, override it like every time you even tried it She lied—it wasn’t you, it’s all a lie, a sigh, a spy who must’ve Faked a dossier or leaked some hearsay… It couldn’t be the women’s accusations— your Qualifications set you far above the allegations, Destract ‘em with some deportations ‘til you run out The Statute Of Limitations… Where is the love? Where is the honesty? Where is the hope that used to be? Where? Where has it gone? Call em names-- crooked, cryin', liddle, lyin' Rocket man and Pocahontas while you stand there looking jaundiced, Laugh, then wash your hands like Pontius... Call collusion an illusion-- a fusion You gotta get some kinda truth infusion cause a lie on a lie on a lie on a lie only sticks an inch-long needle in everybody's eye Surround yourself with Bannon, Kushner, Flynn Ivanka, Sarah, Steven Miller, Kelly Anne... Its like a swimmin' pool full of bathtub gin-- No "swamp" just a cesspool full of lyin' grins Get your justice from your puppet Sessions To cover all those indisgressions-- EPA, Education, Interior, State Department, Shrinking government for your own enlargement... Get woke— this ain’t no dream, it’s a nightmare. Get woke— this ain’t no dream, it’s a nightmare. Get woke— this ain’t no dream, it’s a nightmare. Get woke— this ain’t no dream, it’s a nightmare. (Repeat to end)

Source: A Dream Lyrics.pdf · pp. track 01

Albums & listening

Live, remastered, and alternate arrangements may differ from the supplied lyrics.

Recording details (1)
A. Dream · A. Dream
Artist
Scott Simpson
Composer
David Scott Simpson
Released
2018-01-20
Genre
Hip-Hop/Rap
Track
1
Duration
4:36
Type
Sung words
Listen on Apple Music

Song story & origins

Introduction

In 2018 I was unusually productive musically and unusually frustrated politically. Early that year I released A. Dream (short for “American Dream,” a nod to the inaugural claim that “the American dream is dead”). Late that year I released Gravitate. Between those two records sit three songs that speak directly to Donald J. Trump: one deadly serious (A. Dream) and two satirical (TrumpFunk and The Ballad of Donald).

I knew I’d have to face these sooner or later, and I decided to simply present them and read the words aloud, because the verses can move fast. I don’t want this to become a polemic; I want the lyrics to speak, then move on. Still, the moment matters. As I drafted this, we were at the end of the first wave of public impeachment hearings. I don’t know whether a second wave will come, but I do know this much: when you’re an artist and you’re frustrated or angry, you channel it into the work—music, painting, sculpture, speaking—so it might do someone else some good. That’s true no matter where you stand politically. And if we’re listening to one another, we can receive work we don’t fully agree with, consider it, and be better for the engagement.

For my part, the frustration rose from what I understood to be a pattern: pressure on Ukraine’s new president to open a debunked investigation into a political rival; earlier Mueller findings around collusion and obstruction; decades of documented business controversies and lawsuits; multiple allegations of sexual misconduct. To say “no collusion, no quid pro quo, no bribery” without looking at the full picture felt disingenuous to me. These three songs all predate the impeachment process itself but come from that same disquiet.

One craft note: wherever the “speaker” in a verse is the president himself, I sing it straight. I don’t attempt an impersonation—that would distract from the song.

Why these three sit together

Because they trace one year of work and one argument: satire’s sting (TrumpFunk, Ballad) and a straight-on lament (A. Dream). The larger invitation is the same one I gave myself while the hearings rolled: do the work. Make the thing. Don’t just stew—create. Then listen well to others who are making, even if it’s not your view.

The serious one. A rap/hip-hop frame that treats the “American dream is dead” assertion as a moral and civic nightmare.

Notes

The form lets the indictments pile: language, appointments, slogans, denial, the erosion of institutions. The refrain is blunt: Get woke—this ain’t no dream, it’s a nightmare.

Source: New Music Memoir (1).docx

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