Wake up in the morning and put on your suit
Hop on the 94 for the daily pursuit
Spend your days from food court to another
Expect no loyalty from your servant brothers
Bangers and mash on a street food cart
Hammer and sickle tattoo on his hand
Disciple of chaotic catering arts
Every friday night by the newspaper stand
Burn your masters
And hang the cooks
Check your wages
They’re overcooked
Smoking jackets and cutlery etiquette
Will only get you so far until the standards are met
Fill your belly and fill your days
You just forgot how to tip, it’s the mistake you’ve made
Now how good does it feel to be hanged by the balls?
Cold touch of a knife as your whole world falls
I’ll piss on your soup and I’ll fart on your merengue
You should've learned not to fuck with the Black Tie Gang
Burn your masters
And hang the cooks
All the sous-chefs
Are class traitor crooks
(Shook the hand that played with spoons)
They call me the waiter
'Cus I’m waiting for a change
I’ll take your order
Just like a submissive slave
Don’t wanna serve!
Don’t wanna serve!
Don’t wanna serve!
I wanna swing, swing, swing, swing
They call me the waitress
'Cus I’m waiting on a chain
The voice of a songbird
Echoes through the cage
Don’t wanna serve!
Don’t wanna serve!
Don’t wanna serve!
I wanna sing!
He’s coming, the marshall
Said he’s voice of the people now
Sad I don’t wanna have nothing to do with it
Lazy fish sleeps at the riverbed
Calm waters they mean no missing flow
Lazy cat naps at the sleeping net
Come 'round and I’ll show you all the things that you’re missing
Sitting by my picket fence
Just watching white paint dry
Comes up on his high horse
Asks what I’m tryin’ to hide
Say I smoke the hemp and I sing at choir
I pay my dues and I do my chores
Laughing to my face, he says that working is the law.
Say, I’ll do you another one
Idle hands do no devil’s work
You’re only wrong as soon
As you take a stand
Fencing the mob, tell’em to jump
Rock me in bed until you stop being mad
All this talk of slaying and the face of a red satan is just a symptom of what’s hiding inside
(It’s in your face! Your mouth! In your face! Shut it!)
I fear only the prayer of a preacher that's been saying who's a sinner and who'll be sanctified
(It’s in your face! Your mouth! In your face! Shut it!)
It's just a phantom of our times that we will have to learn to hide like a pack of sick domestic mice
(It’s in your face! Your mouth! In your face! Shut it up!)
Feeling tired of explaining that the stars your chest is wearing mean to me as much as those in the sky
(It’s in your face! Your mouth! In your face!)
Sike!
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