They bash in smoking Dunhills and a set conflagration
They pave a wasteland and call it a generation
Your cellphones won't capture the drone overhead
They compel you back to bed

You'll wonder when they come for you next
It's Monday morning and you can't help feeling alone
It's Monday morning when you have the wrong skin tone
Too sad to be jealous, too angry to be sad
I won't go quietly, or be happy with what I have

When despair becomes hate, hate becomes rage
Things never change
It's always more of the same

They try to sterilize the streets
The sewers have been bleached
Still the pimps and rats creep underneath your streets
The encroaching reach, the watchmen we breed

Lumbering robots, spitting sulfur
A belting of the state's wound like a soft peach

It's Monday morning and you can't help feeling alone
It's Monday morning when you have the wrong skin tone
Too sad to be jealous, too angry to be sad
I won't go quietly, or be happy with what I have

When despair becomes hate, hate becomes rage
Things never change
It's always more of the same

Give me a sledgehammer on every fucking face a nail