Queensberry Rules – Gallows

Scratch one more to the body count
Another dead kid you don’t care about
Forget what the paper reads
Safe in your house while another kid bleeds
Every one of us to blame
For each capital teen who died in vain
We are fucking worse if not the same
We read the filth but forget the names

No money for a funeral
Till you sell your story out to the world
Hoods up, knives out, “protect ya neck”
With no remorse and no respect
For every teen who lost their life
Hung on the end of a kitchen knife
We will carve this cross into your chest
To remind you of this fucking mess

Kitchen knives are the silent kill
Gun shots start the rumour mill
Let’s take this back to the old school
Live out our lives by the Queensberry rules
Two fists clenched tight
Two fucking wrong-uns who both think they’re right
The bigger they are
The harder they fucking fall

No money for a funeral
Till you sell your story out to the world
Hoods up, knives out, “protect ya neck”
No remorse and no respect
For every teen who lost their life
Hung on the end of a kitchen knife
We will carve this cross into your chest
To remind you of this fucking mess

The Union Jack has bled away
It’s black and white, and it’s fucking grey
The cells are cold, the streets are the same
It’s been a dead summer, and we’re praying for rain
Your heart of gold is dead and cold
And you wonder when your dreams got old
Walk yourselves down to the Thames
And throw your knives in so that this can end