Figurehead Catacombs

Poor in the reign
All for the reign
Say the lord to his king
Hoarding the grain
Ain’t no more for the rain is pouring no more
All the same say the king
Pour me some more
If the cup don’t forfeit
Fuck the cuffs
Cus we gonna cut those gauntlets
Lift your cups
Sante' the aristocracy wrist to cut
All we have is fists and causes
It’s enough
Homie
Had them choked by the reign
Yoked by the reign by their throat with a chain
Broke by the weight of it’s load all the same
Poor with no name getting paved by their graves
Are the roads that remain
And they’re gone blacked by ball point
They’re redacted lost in history
For a frame the bodies of poor men
Line the paintings adorning an old king
You can keep that folk lore
Blacked by bonfire
You can keep that folk lore
Backed by barn fires
You can keep that class room
Backed by that sire
You can keep that class room
Staffing that squire
And they’re gone blacked by ball point
They’re redacted lost in history
For a frame the bodies of poor men
Line the paintings adorning an old king
And
Then
They
Fuck
Yo
Can’t take it nah we can’t take it
Can’t take it nah we ain’t sacred
Can’t take it nah we can’t take it
Can’t take it nah we ain’t sacred
Power prevails till the power’s derailed
Put in place a new power to devour itself
Saw the chains exchange hands feeling proud of itself
Meanwhile the same hand needs a mountain to till
Look around it comes down to the field it’s compounded
By will then confounded by a ground that won’t yield
You were stuck on the gold should have shucked for the gold
Now your fucked out of your luck and out of control
And they’re gone blacked by ball point
They’re redacted lost in history
For a frame the bodies of rich men
Line the paintings adorning a new king
It’s a grab bag grab bag
Fuck it we don’t own a thing
A grab bag grab bag
Fuck it we don’t own a thing
A grab bag grab bag
Fuck it we don’t own a thing
A grab bag grab bag
Fuck it we don’t own a thing
Fuck it we don’t own a thing