The words of freedom on the tongue of a snake

With a democratic face bought and paid for by the lies of the state

Without a human trait well under the heels of a tyranny waits

A long forgotten voice



And revolution is the ultimate fate of the whip and the gun

Nowhere to run is nothing like fun

Out in the heat, Wild on the streets

Wild on the streets, wild on the streets



People listen to the words of a friend

To lie you have to breath

Television hey tell it again

The people pay no heed



We want equality but what do we get

Bullets and ballots again

Roll in your grave Beethoven and the death beat marches on



Nowhere to run is nothing like fun

Out in the heat, Wild on the streets

Wild on the streets, wild on the streets



On leather jackets and broken chain

In walls of mortar and ties

These are the words of our fate inscribed

Standing twelve feet high



Here are the free men who inherit the earth

Here are the words that died

Buried under six feet of dirt and the death beat marches on



Nowhere to run is nothing like fun

Out in the heat, Wild on the streets

Wild on the streets, wild on the streets