The words of freedom on the tongue of a snake With a democratic face bought and paid for by the lies of the state Without a human trait well under the heels of a tyranny waits A long forgotten voice And revolution is the ultimate fate of the whip and the gun Nowhere to run is nothing like fun Out in the heat, Wild on the streets Wild on the streets, wild on the streets People listen to the words of a friend To lie you have to breath Television hey tell it again The people pay no heed We want equality but what do we get Bullets and ballots again Roll in your grave Beethoven and the death beat marches on Nowhere to run is nothing like fun Out in the heat, Wild on the streets Wild on the streets, wild on the streets On leather jackets and broken chain In walls of mortar and ties These are the words of our fate inscribed Standing twelve feet high Here are the free men who inherit the earth Here are the words that died Buried under six feet of dirt and the death beat marches on Nowhere to run is nothing like fun Out in the heat, Wild on the streets Wild on the streets, wild on the streets
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