A mass of hands press on the market window Ghosts of progress Dressed in slow death Feeding on hunger And glaring through the promise Upon the food that
The hills find peace Locked armed guard posts Safe from the screams Of the children born as ghosts Gates guns and alarms Shape the calm of the dawn Peering
[Zach de la Rocha] Transmission, third World War, third round A decade of the weapon of sound above ground No Shelter if you're looking for shade I lick
[*whispers*] Feel the funk blast.. Feel the funk blast.. FEEL THE THE FUNK BLAST!! FEEL THE FUNK BLAST!!! A-FEEL THE FUNK BLAST!! Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
Tha sun ablaze as Maria's foot Touches tha surface of sand On northern land As human contraband Some rico from Jalisco Passed her name to tha boss She
Oh...wait a minute now.. Ha ha ha....Come on.. Wait a minute now.. Check.. [Zack de la Rocha] To the Young R to the E, the B to the E, the L Never give
Hungry people don't stay hungry for long They get hope from fire and smoke as they reach for tha dawn Tha spirit of Jackson Now screams through tha ruins
[Zack de la Rocha - *whispering*] My fears hunt me down.. Capturing my memories.. The frontier of loss.. They try to escape across the street where..
The movie ran through me The glamour subdue me The tabloid untie me I'm empty please fill me Mister anchor assure me That Baghdad is burning Your voice
YEAAAH! [Zack de la Rocha] The world is my expense.. The cost of my desire.. Jesus blessed me with its future.. And I protect it with fire.. So raise
Southern fist Rise through tha jungle mist Clenched to smash power so cancerous A black flag and a red star A rising sun loomin' over Los Angeles 'Cause
be tha spark That set all tha prairie fires on Make tha masses a mastodon path To trample tha fascists on At fifteen exposed Philly's finest killing machine
The hills find peace, locked armed guard posts Safe from the screams of the children born as ghosts The gates, guns and alarms shape the calm of the dawn
Oh wait a minute now Ha aha c'mon Wait a minute now Check To the young R to the E the B to the E the L Never give up just live up fed upon America I
Transmission third world war third round Decade of the weapon of sound above ground No shelter if you're looking for shade I lick shots at the brutal
The sun ablaze as Maria's foot Touches the surface of sand On northern land As human contraband Some Rico from Jalisco Passed her name to the boss She
A mass of hands press on the market window Ghosts of progress dressed in slow death Feeding on hunger and glaring through the promise Upon the food that
You be the spark that set the prairie fires on Make the masses a mastodon path to trample the fascists on At fifteen exposed Phillys finest killing machine