So where the fuck is our pride tonight?
Are we just blank slates born at the end of an arms race?
We're the heirs to the chokeholds, chokeholds put on other necks

So listen as we pluck the strings to a flagpole, a flagpole
The flagpole to this sleeper cell we've inherited
The flagpole to this sleeper cell

We sing these songs on stolen ground and ride up north on the highway
That Robert Moses pushed through the Bronx in the nineteen fifties
A casino or new tenement house, so we don't ever have to think about
How we never seem to be the ones caught in the crosshairs

We let out a sigh of relief as the gas prices go down,
And turn our headphones up to ignore the wrecking ball sound
You got damn damn good at sleeping with the lights on,
And we got damn damn good at reaping the benefits
We ignore the unjust overtures that chime

We sing these songs on stolen ground and ride up north on the highway
That Robert Moses pushed through the Bronx in the nineteen fifties
A casino or new tenement house, so we don't ever have to think about
How we never seem to be the ones caught in the crosshairs
Caught in the crosshairs
Caught in the crosshairs

Grease or wrench, subversion or acquiescence,
Are we just blank slates born at the end of an arms race?
So where the fuck is our pride tonight?