In “White Coats in the Smoke,” Civic Hush returns to the theme of medical exploitation, but this time she focuses on the chemical pacification of the populace. It’s a rhythmic indictment of a healthcare system that views “quieting nerves” as the ultimate goal and human vitality as a side effect to be managed.
Chemical Compliance
Civic describes the arrival of the “white coats” not as a relief effort, but as an occupation. The imagery of “yellow pills” used to “soften wills” is a direct strike at the use of pharmaceuticals to suppress dissent and “wipe the fire” from the faces of the survivors. She highlights the clinical cruelty of being “dosed on need,” where the “need” is determined by a screen that turns red, signaling another script and another name to track.
The Smoke of Accountability
The “white coat smoke” serves as a metaphor for the obfuscation of the medical establishment. Civic asks the hard questions: Who made the cure? Who owns the gate? Who keeps the score? By pointing out that the “body count is too clean to track,” she exposes a system designed to vanish its victims without leaving a trace. The song ends with a bitter realization—that while the “white coats” might vanish into the smoke with their cash, the people are left behind, “coughin'” on the aftermath of their “care.”
WHITE COATS IN THE SMOKE
by: Civic Hush
They came in coats as white as sin
With sample bags and practiced grins
Said this’ll help said that one’s free
Then billed me twice for sympathy
They gave my mama yellow pills
To quiet nerves and soften wills
They called it care they called it grace
But it wiped the fire from her face
White coats marchin white coats lie
Pills to live and pills to die
Left foot numb and right foot broke
We all breathin white coat smoke
They sold us sleep they sold us speed
Diagnosed and dosed on need
I asked for hope they gave a card
Said fill this out and breathe in hard
Behind the desk a screen went red
Another script another thread
A body count too clean to track
And no one ever gives it back
Who made the cure they did
Who owns the gate they hid
Who keeps the score the board
Who takes the blame ignored
White coats marchin white coats fade
Cash in hand no soul to trade
Sing it low with a bitter stroke
We’re all coughin white coat smoke
No one bleeds on TV shows
Just one more pill one more dose
And I keep singin from this ash and rope
White coats vanish in the smoke