The preachers from the pulpits of power
Leaders of cloth, they preach to our empty pockets
And the same gang with different colors
Plays up to the dialect of establishment
Will you take our pain, will you throw bread
To us from high above?

We will stay true to trust on these streets
But I won't be corrupted or stuck on repeat

The preachers from the pulpits of power
Leaders of cloth, they preach to our empty pockets
And the same gang with different colors
Plays up, raise up any flag we fly
Any war we buy it, any war
Will you take our pain, will you throw bread
To us from high above?

We will stay true to trust on these streets
But I won't be corrupted or stuck on repeat

Yet the workers rage in the empire days
The ratchet thrown in the childrens mills
The bootstrap lies in the patriot plays
The burning fires on these hills
This road grows

The preachers from the pulpits of power
Leaders of cloth, they preach to our empty pockets
And the same gang with different colors
Plays up to the dialect of establishment
Will you take our pain, will you throw bread
To us from high above?