| Thunderclouds have been making faces
|
| My friends are on the front porch getting wasted
|
| Freedom sits this side of the hill
|
| Calling me back but I never will
|
| We’ll hang low like they do it down in Idaho
|
| Don’t run, we roll, as we’re headed out to Roady’s Bowl
|
| Some say that sleep’s for dreamers
|
| We pack up our things and make our way to the theater
|
| The suits, they dropped the ball again
|
| We’ll pass the hat and make another plan
|
| We’ll hang low like they do it down in Idaho
|
| Don’t run, we roll, as we’re calling up the radio
|
| Suburban crimes of using words
|
| We hear out in the distance our ghetto bird
|
| Big brother’s got his eye on you
|
| Walk a block and it’ll tell the truth
|
| We’ll hang low like they do it down in Idaho
|
| Don’t run, we roll, as we’re headed out to Roady’s Bowl
|
| Don’t run, we roll, as we’re calling up the radio
|
| Don’t run, we roll, as they’re locking up another soul |