1. |
The Thick Blue Line
03:45
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Broad daylight in Cudell Park, a child holds a BB gun
Cops are called, shots are fired - racist murderers, or just that fucking dumb?
Tim Loehmann and Frank Garmback fired without a look around
Tamir Rice, twelve years old, bled out on the grass as they held his sister down
Time to erase the thick blue line
Put those fucking bastards on the dole
Time to erase the thick blue line
They play at being scared but you know they're in control
Dayton Walmart, sporting goods, John Crawford holds a BB gun
Cops are called, shots are fired - the only weapon found was Ronald Ritchie's phone
Time to erase the thick blue line
Put those fucking bastards on the dole
Time to erase the thick blue line
They'll play at being scared until we take control
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2. |
Arme Blanche
04:08
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Tu lèves la main: salut Romain
Vas jouer aux petits soldats avec tes petits copains
Sur le podium, le grand bonhomme
Il roule des yeux, plus tu frimes au maximum
Dans la foule, t'es jamais seul; hors de vue ils se payent ta gueule
T'es rien qu'une arme blanche a la botte de ces salauds
Une arme blanche, t'es bon qu'a faire leur sale boulot
Une arme blanche, t'es si fier de ta peau
Une arme blanche, tu verras comme ils se foutent de toi, pauvre con de fasho
T'as de grandes idées? Et bien, tant pis
C'est pas a la matraque qu'on lui demande son avis
L'arme du crime, vite fait de bazarder ca
Vas-y pauvre type, tu verras ce qu'ils pensent de toi: t'es rien qu'une arme blanche
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3. |
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Up here on the roof, where the concrete meets the sky
Let's hunch our backs like carrion hawks and watch the old world die
Downtown desert afternoon, no-one meets your eye
Trash winds blow down canyon streets as the minutes shuffle by
Dead city - living grave
In homes like prison yards, with coffins for our beds
Playing at plague doctor with the jailers in our heads
Sirens in the silence, coughing in the night
We're rotting from the inside out and spoiling for a fight
Dead city - living grave
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4. |
The Road Ahead
02:36
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You know it won't be clean
You know it won't be fast
You know it won't be painless
But we're never going back
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5. |
This Is New England
04:39
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Winter's cold, and that's bad or good - are you living by the pint or by the plow?
Or are you lying in the street where you childhood friends once stood
Too drunk to get a shelter bed, wondering "what now?"
Newport's cliff are lovely in the Spring, but her mansions are so big it makes you sick
At the edge of the world, you can hear the ocean sing
"Come you Martin Edens, swim to me like a brick"
Another Summer's come and gone, another Greasy Pole's been won
The seabass all sleep easier - another fisher boy's moved on
Come the Fall, the town's no longer ours and out in the Berkshires nothing seems quite real
It's all foliage and farm stands, and banjos in the bars
But when a needle drops in Central Square you can hear it in Springfield
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6. |
Sans Foie Ni Roi
03:41
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Aux yeux des petits morveux l'avenir est bien radieux
Mais a mesure qu'on perd la trace, c'est la qu'on boit la tasse
On échange nos ambitions pour une vie de boulots bidons
L'ascension sociale, quelle blague! On traîne en terrain vague
Sans foie ni roi, on s'y retrouve plus
Sans foie ni roi, dans cet avenir mal foutu
Sans foie ni roi, la vie en garde a vue
La vie sous sol: on en a ras-le-bol
La vie bourgeoise: c'est complètement naze
La gueule de bois: qu'est-ce qu'on ferait sans toi?
Ce futur abruti, on l'a bien choisi
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7. |
No Good Cops
03:11
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Show me a "good" policeman and I'll show you a rat
Because "serve and protect" don't just mean "watch your buddy's back"
It's right under your eyes, but suddenly you're blind
If you can't police your own backyard then fuck off out of mine
Another crooked copper busted, they just turn and shrug
Another racist murder by another blue-shirt thug
From Amadou to Homan Square, Rampart to Johnny Burge
Show me "law and order" and I'll show you empty words
There's no good cops, just bad and worse
The ones that pull the trigger and the ones that steal your purse
And the ones that look on sadly like there's nothing they can do
Well fuck the thieves, and fuck the killers, and fuck the "good cops" too
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8. |
Jackboots Echo
03:36
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Stranglehold on Leningrad, 1944
Nine hundred days' siege, wolves still howling at the door
They were beaten back that time, but barely broke their stride
And they finally took St. Petersburg in the year 2005: when Kacharava died their jackboots echoed
Ryukhin and Markelov and Baburova fell
Before Goryachev and Tikhonov would see a prison cell
Fedor, Vanya, Ilya: RASH and Trojan Skins
Murdered in broad day by brown shirts, they never gave in
What desert breezes cry for Spit and Shersty, dead and brave?
What timid mourners sigh at Heather Heyer's unmarked grave?
What cold winds blow when jackboots echo?
Even in defeat, jackboots echo
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Battery March Boston, Massachusetts
punk band from boston
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