| My brothers and i rolled out from detroit
|
| Down to chicago to join in the fight
|
| It’s the kind of shit that we did all the time
|
| Play for the people and don’t make a dime.
|
| It’s high time, it’s a high crime.
|
| Allen ginsberg’s chanting om
|
| Burroughs and mailer just couldn’t stay home
|
| Blood ran cold and tension’s thick
|
| My head get cracked by a cop’s nightstick.
|
| Bad sign on the front line.
|
| And i play my guitar, and the beat comes down
|
| On a beautiful cosmic siren sound
|
| And no one’s laughing, there is no joy
|
| Down here on the ground.
|
| Choppers are thumping, trying to drown my sound
|
| And i’m blasting feedback, spraying the crowd
|
| It’s a war on hate, we’re smashing the state
|
| At the siege of chicago back in sixtyeight.
|
| Didn’t look good, it had a bad feel
|
| I was high on that hashish brownie meal
|
| The action spilled to the streets of oldtown
|
| Some threw rocks and others just threw down.
|
| Was agit-prop in application
|
| Whole world is watching
|
| We’re shocking the nation. |