Up from the ashes, grow the roses of success.
Fuck it, our roses have withered, the leaves look stressed.
The ashes have reformed, ignited and are ablaze,
We're all pawns of the government, rats in a maze.
When was the last time, your pay check was all yours?
We work harder than race dogs, down on all fours.
We sweat, brood and toil, for our daily bread.
We're killing ourselves in labour, to make sure we get fed.
The men of office we entrust, with our hard earned tax,
Are cheating on their wives and women, morals are slack.
What kind of fucking standards, are those Fat Cat wankers setting?
We have no right to complain, this behaviour we are letting.
Everyone just open your eyes, see the deceit and hear the lies.
Don't find scapegoats in society, BLAME THE REAL BAD GUYS.
Quit crying yourselves to sleep, when you have tax arrears,
Where you live is your fucking home, the rent man feeds on fears.
Fuck the royalty too, Sid Vicious had it right the first time round.
When we have our revolution, our peace of mind will be found.
But, when our revolution comes, we'll quickly find another immoral leader.
Another Fat Cat wanker in a suit, Another tax-money feeder.