| Suburbs tremble again
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| Fearing the have-nots at the window, collecting their fair share
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| Guns and alarms aren’t enough
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| They demand justice
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| And every criminal locked away
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| As well as any kid who might do something wrong
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| There’s a jail out of town
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| With fences so high we won’t think about who’s inside
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| Neighbours are disappearing behind the bars
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| Kids are doing time for petty crimes
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| It don’t matter who they are
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| It don’t matter that they’re alive
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| A warehouse for victims of circumstance
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| Cops are rounding up slaves
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| Workers that can’t complain or come late
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| A workforce behind bars
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| They’ll make gadgets, circuit boards or fix cars
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| It don’t matter who they are
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| It don’t matter that they’re alive
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| Crime pays, ask the bankers floating bonds
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| To build cages for the inner-city's «idle-hands"instead of schools
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| Factories with fences meet the prisons without walls
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| (And we shall have your skulls)
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| They’ll kick you to the ground
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| You’ll find yourself employed again. |
| On the inside |