Backstabbers Incorporated - A Warehouse Full Of Mailbombs, And Not One f**ing Stamp lyrics

f** your speeches to me of sacrifice, or anything I believed in, (of inspiration) end of f**ing change. Your two hour rants on who we all should blame. Deaf to this world, and dead in my eyes, I watch as another toy soldier dies. f** your revolution. And if you didn't hear me, we'll scream it once again. (and again and again). One f**ing song doesn't start the f**ing riot. It doesn't matter how many kids buy it. Fingers in the air. (gun to the head) The one's who screamed for a change? They're the ones all f**ing dead. Your t-shirts, your pins, your patches won't work. They all won't win this war. So far from over, so far from done. f** your message boards, nothing's f**ing won. So f** you. Talk of broken bones, let's talk of blood on the floor. Let's talk of all those days gone by and how we strive for more. Talk of anything. Anything but your f**ing revolution. We throw these words away like the time that we've wasted. And a fest every weekend, is not 'inspiration' I'm not buying this, and I'm not dying here. I'm not part of your empire. The broken streetlights don't need to be fixed for us to see the kids are burning alive. I've said it before, I'll say it again. I'll say it till the day I f**ing die. f** your Revolution. (Are you using these fests, this merch table, these songs to sell your revolution? Or are you another in a long line of bullsh** artists that is here to make a quick buck? It's getting harder to tell which is which. You can't keep a poker face forever, champ.)