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Queensberry Rules
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Gallows
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1
Scratch one more to the body count,
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Another dead kid you don't care about.
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Forget what the papers read,
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Safe in your house while another kid bleeds.
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Everyone of us to blame,
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For each capital teen who died in vain.
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We are fucking worse if not the same,
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We read the filth and forget the names.
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No money for a funeral.
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"˜til you sell your story out to the world.
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Hoods up, knifes out,
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"protect ya neck"
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with no remorse and no respect.
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And for every teen who lost their life
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Hung on the end of a kitchen knife
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We will carve this cross into your chest
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to remind you of this fucking mess.
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Kitchen knifes and the silent kill.
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Gun shots start the rumour mill.
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Lets take this back to the old school
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Live out our lives by the Queensberry rules.
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Two fists clenched tight
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Two fucking wrong-uns who both think there're right.
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The bigger they are
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The harder they fucking fall
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No money for a funeral.
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"˜til you sell your story to the rest of the world
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hoods up Knifes out,
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"protects you neck".
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No remorse and no respect.
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And for every teen who lost there life
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Hung on the end of a kitchen knife
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We will carve a cross into your chest,
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To remind you of the fucking mess.
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The union jack has bled away.
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Its black and white and its fucking grey.
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The cells are cold,
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The streets are the same,
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Its been a dead summer and were praying for rain.
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Your heart of gold is dead and cold,
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and you wonder when your dreams got old.
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Walk yourselves down to the Thames,
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And throw you knifes in so that this can end.
Gallows - Misery
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