| What the f*** you think you’re looking at now? |
| I’m not the one to blame |
| It was your mans |
| Who sold your soul |
| Sold your country |
| Sold your company |
| For seventy-three cents |
| We paid the price |
| You laid the dime |
| He did the crime |
| Now we got millions incapacitated |
| He ain’t been seen in public since |
| Walking around |
| Find yourself in the Bowery |
| You don’t know where you’re going |
| Don’t know what to do |
| The smell of piss is the same |
| But s**t is different |
| There’s no more Country |
| Bluegrass |
| No more Blues |
| And nothing left to lose |
| But don’t look back |
| Get ready for that |
| Ill attack now |
| They die off and then come back to life |
| Count their numbers then they multiply |
| Up in smoke |
| Just like a ghost |
| Out in these gold-plated streets |
| Don’t see no prophets here |
| But just like Jeremiah |
| We’ll disappear |
| Yeah we’ll all vanish completely |
| Don’t get it twisted now |
| Most folk outside the city want you gone too |
| Shhh… |
| And they comin' soon |
| Strewn along |
| Broken signs along the interstate |
| You they all hail 'cause it’s getting closer |
| Calling for Repentance or Hell |
| With no Redemption at all |
| Throw the new American flag |
| Over the old one |
| You all hail 'cause it’s getting closer |
| 'Cause something tells me it’s not the first thing that you hanged in your yard |
| Hail hail the Dredge of the angels |
| Hail hail the prize of the swine |
| You’re waiting to get got 'cause they got you fat and laid out |
| Hail hail |
| Spinning on a spit with the fruit of knowledge gagging your mouth |
| They die off and then come back to life |
| Count their numbers then they multiply |
| They die off, they come back to life |
| Count their numbers then they multiply |