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Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,
A little kid's crying, 'cus they haven't been fed.
The stars in the sky don't give a fuck,
They're spheres of plasma.

Away in a manger somewhere,
Millions of children are needlessly starving,
As we bake our cookies,
And stuff our face,
And die of heart disease,
This is the world we live in,
It doesn't have to be such a disgrace,
But making it a better place starts with us carving,
From the ashes of the old,
A new mold, a new system.

And the Stars in Hollywood, or on Wall Street, or in Washington,
Are more concerned with making a quick buck.
They looked down at the starving kid as they lay in the hellish shanty town hay,
And censured their parents for "not working hard enough.",
"They get what they earn; they should be grateful for their measly pay.",
So let's remind the Stars that they'll get what they earn too:
When the time comes, all we'll tell them is "You had it coming to you."

The chattel are fuming,
The worker awakes,
To class consciousness,
To all this unorganized madness.

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Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.