We are working class

Knuckles smashed, covered in grease and muck.
See these scars? That's my connection, fuck!
To the real world, not your cushioned seats,
Where every day is war on these cold concrete streets!

Alarm screams at five, like a siren raid,
Coffee tastes like swill, but the anger stays.
While you sleep in silk, I fire up the machine.
It ain't a "career", son. It's a life routine!


They tell us: "Hold on, tighten up your belt."
But I see the greed that you’ve never felt!
Hear that rumble?!

Припев
WE! AIN'T! YOUR TOOLS!
WE — ARE THE WORKING CLASS!
Concrete in our veins, poison in our gas!
Who built your heaven? Who laid this floor?
Look away, you coward! We’re kicking down the door!
OI! OI! OI!
THIS IS US — THE WORKING CLASS!


White collar stiff, looking down on the scum.
But if we stop moving, your factories are done.
Your Lexus won't roll if I don't pump the fuel.
In this fucked up world, I am the one who rules!

Friday night, Corner Pub, a pint of stout.
No fakes allowed here, keep the liars out.
Just lads in boots worn down to the sole.
Carrying the weight of this world in a hole!


No more compromises.
No more lies.
Show me your hands.
SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!

Припев
WE! AIN'T! YOUR TOOLS!
WE — ARE THE WORKING CLASS!
Concrete in our veins, poison in our gas!
Who built your heaven? Who laid this floor?
Look away, you coward! We’re kicking down the door!


Boots on the pavement.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
We are here.