Zack De La Rocha - March Of Death на Lyrkit

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Zack De La Rocha

March Of Death

March Of Death

(Rock and roll music is the main weapon)

Check
One two
Alright, bust it

I was born with the voice of a riot, a storm
Lightning the function, the form
Far from the norm, won't follow like cattle
I'm more like a catalyst; calm in the mix of battle
Who let the cowboy on the saddle? He don't know a missile from a gavel
Para terror trooping flipping loops of death upon innocent flesh
But I'm back in the cipher my foes and friends
With a verse and a pen, against a line I won't toe or defend
Instead I curse at murderous men in suits of professionals who act like animals
Man child, ruthless and wild
Who gonna chain this beast back on the leash?
This[?] Texas Führer, for sure a, compassion-less con usurper
Lethal needle to the poor. The cure for crime is murder?

Well, I was born with the voice of a riot, a storm
Lightning the function, the form
Far from the norm, won't follow like cattle
I'm more like a catalyst; calm in the mix of battle
Who let the cowboy on the saddle? He don't know a missile from a gavel

On the left, on the left, left, right, left
On the left, on the left, left, right, left
(But it's just a march of death)
On the left, on the left, left, right

(Okay, you're looking good, you might bend just a little left, just a little left, about 170)

I read the news today, oh boy, a snap shot of a midnight ploy
Vex the powerless, devour my hours I'm motionless with no rest
Cause the scream now holds the sky, under another high-tech drive-by
A lie is a lie is a God
A government's a condor of war, nothing more
Islam peace, Islam stare into my eyes brother please off our knees
To beef now we feed their disease, interlocked our hands across seas
What is a flag is a rag is a shroud out loud, outside a faceless crowd
A cowering child just took her last breath, one snare (one snare) in the march of death

On the left, on the left, left, right, left
On the left, on the left, left, right, left
(But it's just a march of death)
On the left, on the left, left, right, left
On the left, on the left, left, right

Here it comes the sound of terror from above
He flex his Texas twisted tongue
The poor lined up to kill in desert slums
For oil that boil beneath the desert sun
Now we spit flame, we flip this game
All the targets are taking aim
All targets are taking aim
We're the targets, they're taking aim

Left, right, left...

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