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• Artiste: Primitive Man
• Titre: Commerce
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Autrement, nous ne pouvons les corriger pas! Merci pour votre aide.
Cold Shackled to The bottom Of the bottle Of the socio economic slavery That rules And runs my life Combust Let smoke fill my lungs Taught lies Work to ruin Infected with poverty Left in the gutter Over worked Under paid From a system meant to fail us Nothing left But to hang our hopes out to try Hell comes home From the time clock to the death bed When death grips your hands And kisses them goodbye Remember None of your work days mattered A lifetime spent tonguing The asshole of all your superiors Nothing is real But the inevitability of your cold fucking death And your heart being ripped from your chest Placed into the cavity of another worker bee Another fucking wage slave Paycheck to paycheck Your essence is dead but slavery is forever