Lowcaster - Pocket Bible lyrics

Raise the crosses on the hill Slay the aboriginals Sharp minds now lackadaisical False light bends their will From chariots the highborn glare Their soulless glance a vapid state False gods, a pointless existence Unmoved by empty prayers So c'mon string us up You fascist motherf**ers On the cross The ma**es love dead martyrs Bleed us thin There will always be another Bleating sheep One eye for another They'll drink their fill While we master how to suffer Who's penned in When butcher comes to slaughter?