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You might think that you've got it all made

With your wage and your place in the shade

You've got life by the balls, classy whores

Fancy house, polished hard-wooden floors

You hang out with your vacuous kind

Sipping wine, dining fine in the blind

It's all about that status quo, art nouveaux

Romeo, Tokyo, Folio

So take all of your money

Put it somewhere it bleeds

What you got for all your trouble

7-8 inches of fist

Started with a shirt, not much more

In the mail room on the bottom floor

Having fun for a while then it's time

Start to climb, sucking up, next in line

It was not so wise getting gold in your eyes

Suckered in to their lies

Put your trust in the wrong people

Promised fortune for our deeds

How's your loyalty rewarded?

With 7-8 inches of fist

What's left for you to do, you've been screwed

Stand in line every night for your food

Think they've won, grab your gun, tell no one

Time has come for your place in the sun

Interrupt them at tea, see the joke is one me

So i shoot every cunt in the head

Now there's a small feeling of justice

Food & corpse alike grow cold

.222 delivered

7-8 inches of fist