Text: Rage Against The Machine. Revolver.

His spit is worth more then her work
Pass the purse to the puglist
He's a prizefighter
He brought rings and he owns kin
And now he's swinging
And now he's the champion
Hey revolver, don't mothers make
Good fathers?
Revolver
A spotless domain
Hides festering hopes she's certain there's more
Pictures of the fields without fences
Her body numbs as he approaches the door
Hey revoler don't mothers make
good fathers?
Revolver