Never did a bit of job
Like a fatty traffic cop
Doin’ nothing all the time
Worthy like an old dime
Strict as god in uniform
Sitting on their wooden thrones
Millions of lazy guards…
Fuck them all! And let us start!
You are surrounded by them:
On the streets, in concert slam,
Everywhere you can be stopped.
What to do? It’s their job.
They are touching you at derby
Let’s obey but… better may be
Tell them: fuck you, dear guards!
I’m free man! Hands off, lads!
Little man with bit of power
Which perverted all his cover
And he feels he has the right
Tell you what to do. Let’s fight!
Fuck you all and burn in hell!
Be aware I will tell
I’m free man at my place
Listen and don’t hide your face.
июнь 2008
Security guards
© Copyright: Ой-Ёй, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108061903083
Свидетельство о публикации №108061903083
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