| Turn my mic up louder, I got to say something
|
| Light weights stepping aside when we come in
|
| Feel it in your chest, the syllables get pumping
|
| People on the street, they panic and start running
|
| Words on loose leaf sheet, complete coming
|
| I jump in my mind, I summon the rhyme I'm dumping
|
| Healing the blind, I promise to let the sun in
|
| Sick of the dark ways we march to the drumming
|
| Jump when they tell us that they wanna see jumping
|
| Fuck that, I wanna see some fists pumping
|
| Risk something, take back what's yours
|
| Say something that you know they might attack you for
|
| 'Cause I'm sick of being treated like I had before
|
| Like it's stupid standing for what I'm standing for
|
| Like this war's really just a different brand of war
|
| Like it doesn't cater to rich and abandon poor
|
| Like they understand you, in the back of their jet
|
| When you can't put gas in your tank
|
| These fuckers are laughing their way to the bank and cashing their cheque
|
| Asking you to have compassion and have some respect
|
| For a leader so nervous in an obvious way
|
| Stuttering and mumbling for nightly news to replay
|
| And the rest of the world watching, at the end of the day
|
| In the living room laughing like, "What did he say?"
|
| Amen, Amen
|
| Amen, Amen
|
| Amen
|
| In my living room watching but I am not laughing
|
| 'Cause when it gets tense, I know what might happen
|
| The world is cold, the bold men take action
|
| Have to react or get blown into fractions
|
| Ten years old, it's something to see
|
| Another kid my age drugged under a Jeep
|
| Taken and bound and found later under a tree
|
| I wonder if he had thought the next one could be me
|
| Do you see the soldiers that are out, today?
|
| They brush the dust from bulletproof vests away
|
| It's ironic, at times like this you'd pray
|
| But a bomb blew the mosque up, yesterday
|
| There's bombs on the buses, bikes, roads
|
| Inside your market, your shops, your clothes
|
| My dad, he's got a lot of fear, I know
|
| But enough pride inside not to let that show
|
| My brother had a book he would hold with pride
|
| A little red cover with a broken spine on the back
|
| He hand-wrote a quote, inside
|
| "When the rich wage war, it's the poor who die"
|
| Meanwhile, the leader just talks away
|
| Stuttering and mumbling for nightly news to replay
|
| The rest of the world watching, at the end of the day
|
| Both scared and angry, like "What did he say?"
|
| Amen, Amen
|
| Amen, Amen
|
| Amen
|
| With hands held high into the sky, so blue
|
| As the ocean opens up to swallow you
|
| With hands held high into the sky so blue
|
| As the ocean opens up to swallow you
|
| With hands held high into the sky, so blue
|
| As the ocean opens up to swallow you
|
| With hands held high into the sky, so blue
|
| As the ocean opens up to swallow you
|
| With hands held high into the sky, so blue
|
| As the ocean opens up to swallow you
|
| With hands held high into the sky, so blue
|
| As the ocean opens up to swallow you |