You might think that you've got it all made
With your wage and your place in the shade
You've got life by the balls, classy whores
Fancy house, polished hard-wooden floors
You hang out with your vacuous kind
Sipping wine, dining fine in the blind
It's all about that status quo, art nouveaux
Romeo, Tokyo, Folio

So take all of your money
Put it somewhere it bleeds
What you got for all your trouble
7-8 inches of fist

Started with a shirt, not much more
In the mail room on the bottom floor
Having fun for a while then it's time
Start to climb, sucking up, next in line
It was not so wise getting gold in your eyes
Suckered in to their lies

Put your trust in the wrong people
Promised fortune for our deeds
How's your loyalty rewarded?
With 7-8 inches of fist

What's left for you to do, you've been screwed
Stand in line every night for your food
Think they've won, grab your gun, tell no one
Time has come for your place in the sun
Interrupt them at tea, see the joke is one me
So i shoot every cunt in the head

Now there's a small feeling of justice
Food & corpse alike grow cold
.222 delivered
7-8 inches of fist

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