I`m not theirs in product or in name But I`ve got no true discretion I can speak of You can make your own distinctions but it`s all the fucking same It`s servitude for someone else`s sake And I dream I`m gonna give`em the old heave ho! And my every thought turns to overthrow (Let`s go!) And I strive to bite the hand that`s feeding me at last And carry on the banner of the working class When I`m dead on my feet or shackled to the beat I`m always looking back over my shoulder They make me paranoid and relegate me to defeat A fate that fits me like an oak box The long hard days of dead monotony The foreman looking down, so paternal I`ll curse the fucking hours cause I know they`re not for me But for now I`ll carry on on borrowed time
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