Guitar: | Jeff Ling |
Guitar: | Luke Kilpatrick |
Drums: | Ben Gordon |
Bass: | Jia O'Connor |
Vocals: | Winston McCall |
When you’re born in the dirt the only way to grow is up
So we reach for the sun but it seems
Every rung that you climb is another crooked line
That you cross off the tally of your dreams
Don’t step out of line kid, you learn it pretty fast
Every face has its place in the crowd
They’ll give you all the answers, so you don’t ask any questions
Then they’ll march you with a smile into the ground
And we all go to heaven in a little row boat
So put your hands up, put your hands up
If crawling for the scraps won’t ever be enough
Put your hands up, put your hands up
The writing’s on the wall, this ain’t ever gonna stop
Put your hands up, put your hands up
If crawling for the scraps won’t ever be enough
Put your hands up, put your hands up
We’ll fight until we die, this ain’t ever gonna stop
This stray dog world, this sick sad place
Got a belly full of maggots and disease
Every apple here is rotten, every blessing is a curse
Every word is a lie you best believe
We take one step forward, then two steps back
In a race to the bottom of the barrel
They teach us how to fear
They teach us how to hate
Then they arm us and they march us off to hell
And its left, left, left right left
So put your hands up, put your hands up
If crawling for the scraps won’t ever be enough
Put your hands up, put your hands up
The writing’s on the wall, this ain’t ever gonna stop
Put your hands up, put your hands up
If crawling for the scraps won’t ever be enough
Put your hands up, put your hands up
We’ll fight until we die, this ain’t ever gonna stop
Because they came for our minds
We said nothing
They came for our hopes
We said nothing
They came for our souls
And still we said nothing
Now they’re coming for our lives
So what’s it gonna take
What’s it gonna take
See how they run, see how they run
So put your hands up, put your hands up
If clawing for the scraps won’t ever be enough
Put your hands up, put your hands up
The writing’s on the wall, this ain’t ever gonna stop
Put your hands up, put your hands up
If clawing for the scraps won’t ever be enough
Put your hands up, put your hands up
We’ll fight until we die, this ain’t ever gonna stop
In the kitchen of the Byron Bay home of Winston McCall stands a refrigerator, adorned on one side by a quote from Tom Waits: "I …