Would you exist without all the fists the music clenched for you
You're dressed up like a full-bodied anarchist
Right down to your views It's more than points that break
There's no threat Little promise to your life, so you take it out on music
Your talk is cheap, I don't want to hear it
Go preach to your fucking choir You piss and moan for what's no longer your own
You're pissing on the motives of my friends
I understand what you're saying, what you're going through, but your point never ends
The ticket price The songs that you write
"We've got out eyes on you The internet is just a minute away I'm telling on you"