They tell us that we're savages
Who haven't got a hope
We're burning in the furnaces,
We're choking at the smoke
They say we haven't got a choice,
Refuse to recognize our voice
Yet they enjoy comissions
From the proceeds of the joke
Those bu*terfly boys
At play with their toys
Stinging like bees
Itching like fleas
bu*terfly boys
You got the toys
You got the breeze
We cought the freeze
bu*terfly boys give us a break
We got the groceries you got the cake
They tell us that we're savages
Who cannot understand
We're sailing on a sinking ship,
We're swimming in the sand
They put their fingers in their ears,
Refuse to recognize our fears
And fly off to jamaica
When we call them underhand