hands held high

Turn my mic up louder, I got to say something I feel it in your chest, the syllables get pumping 

People on the street then panic and start running Jump when they tell us that they wanna see jumping 

Fuck that, I wanna see some fists pumping 'Cause I'm sick of being treated like I had before Like this war's really just a different brand of war. And the rest of the world watching at the end of the day 

In the living room, laughing like, "What did he say?" 

Another kid my age drugged under a Jeep taken and bound and found later under a tree I wonder if he had thought 'the next one could be me' 

My dad, he's got a lot of fear, I know but enough pride inside not to let that show.My brother had a book he would hold with pride a little red cover with a broken spine on the back,he hand-wrote a quote inside,
"When the rich wage war, it's the poor who die"