2026-02-19-6 min.

Trouble Every Day

A song by Frank Zappa (initially released in the album 'Freak Out!').

Frank Zappa wrote this song in 1965, after watching news coverage of the «Watts riots ». Not a whiff of sarcasm or satire here!

Zappa’s note to this track:

“Trouble Every Day” is how I feel about racial unrest in general and the Watts situation in particular. It was written during the Watts riot as it developed. I shopped it briefly all over Hollywood, but no one would touch it… Everybody worries so much about not getting any air play. My, my.

Zappa’s debut album, "Freak Out!" is recognized by Rolling Stone magazine as one of the 500 greatest of all time.

-- Verse 1 --

Well I'm about to get sick
From watchin' my TV
Been checkin' out the news
Until my eyeballs fail to see
I mean to say that every day
Is just another rotten mess
And when it's gonna change, my friend
Is anybody's guess

-- Refrain --

So I'm watchin' and I'm waitin'
Hopin' for the best
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day

-- Verse 2 --

Wednesday I watched the riot
I seen the cops out on the street
Watched 'em throwin' rocks and stuff
And chokin' in the heat
Listened to reports
About the whisky passin' 'round
Seen the smoke and fire
And the market burnin' down
Watched while everybody
On his street would take a turn
To stomp and smash and bash and crash
And slash and bust and burn

-- Refrain --

And I'm watchin' and I'm waitin'
Hopin' for the best
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day

-- Verse 3 --

Well, you can cool it, you can heat it
'Cause, baby, I don't need it
Take your TV tube and eat it
'N all that phony stuff on sports
'N all the unconfirmed reports
You know I watched that rotten box
Until my head begin to hurt
From checkin' out the way
The newsman say they get the dirt
Before the guys on channel so-and-so
And further they assert
That any show they'll interrupt
To bring you news if it comes up
They say that if the place blows up
They will be the first to tell
Because the boys they got downtown
Are workin' hard and doin' swell
And if anybody gets the news
Before it hits the street
They say that no one blabs it faster
Their coverage can't be beat
And if another woman driver
Gets machine-gunned from her seat
They'll send some joker with a Brownie
And you'll see it all complete

-- Refrain --

-- The Voice --

Hey, you know something, people?
I'm not black but there's a whole lots a times I wish I could say I'm not white

-- Verse 4 --

Well, I seen the fires burnin'
And the local people turnin'
On the merchants and the shops
Who used to sell their brooms and mops
And every other household item
Watched a mob just turn and bite 'em
And they say it served 'em right
Because a few of them were white
And it's the same across the nation
Black and white discrimination
Yellin' "You can't understand me!"
'N all that other jazz they hand me
In the papers and TV
And all that mass stupidity
That seems to grow more every day
Each time you hear some nitwit say
He wants to go and do you in
Because the color of your skin
Just don't appeal to him
No matter if it's black or white
Because he's out for blood tonight

-- Verse 5 --

You know we got to sit around at home
And watch this thing begin
But I bet there won't be many
Live to see it really end
'Cause the fire in the street
Ain't like the fire in the heart
And in the eyes of all these people
Don't you know that this could start
On any street in any town
In any state if any clown
Decides that now's the time to fight
For some ideal he thinks is right
And if a million more agree
There ain't no Great Society
As it applies to you and me
Our country isn't free
And the law refuses to see
If all that you can ever be
Is just a lousy janitor
Unless your uncle owns a store
You know that five in every four
Just won't amount to nothin' more
Gonna watch the rats go across the floor
And make up songs about being poor

-- Outro --

Blow your harmonica, son!