| Red carpet crying baby blue
|
| Nothing that crosses your lips is true
|
| You’ll be philosophizing, or criticizing
|
| Until your face turns blue
|
| And while you’re sitting in your ivory tower high
|
| All those drinkers in those ditches just wither and die
|
| Drinking off all those sweet tears that you cry
|
| 'Cause you know it’s getting so damn dry outside
|
| While you’re sitting inside with your feet up by the fire
|
| We’ll be sweeping, ah we’ll be sweeping the steps of your empire
|
| Yeah we’ll be sweeping, ah we’ll be sweeping
|
| The steps of your empire
|
| Think about your hands how they’ll never hammer nails
|
| And how you’ll never spend the night inside that hard cold jail
|
| How you’ll never feel the falling of the rain or the hail
|
| Your skin will forever grow so pale
|
| And it ain’t like there’s a master or a slave
|
| No there isn’t any way that you could ever behave
|
| Ain’t like you’re going to recognize on some beautiful day
|
| Now you just got to pay all them debts that you made
|
| While you’re sitting inside thinking who started the fire
|
| We’ll be sweeping, ah we’ll be sweeping the steps of your empire
|
| Yeah we’ll be sweeping, ah we’ll be sweeping
|
| We’ll be sweeping, ah we’ll be sweeping the steps of your empire
|
| Yeah we’ll be sweeping, ah we’ll be sweeping |