there's no answer (x3)
for the chemical dancers
their checking on the race now (x3)
on their hi-fi stereos
their checking on the race now (x3)
causing us to be wary of
we don't see their grey point of view now
turning us into dilapidated folls, how?
forces us to play ya
trouble at noon (x4)
we don't feel now
their working hard in camden
their burning up in capetown
their forcing it in trenchtown
we're moving into range now
call up the people
smash up the steeple
smiles like treacle
burn up the picture / tearing up the posters
we don't follow no set of rules now
forcing us to march for the truth
we're forcing them to listen
causing an infection (x3)
seething with reflection
we're selling out our culture
we really think so