Herbert Gr - Hard heads

On the street, it's blood and boots 'round at mum's, they're tea and smiles on their own they're going nowhere but in their gang they can goosestep miles get the hard on when they're hunting prowling for their prey in packs real hard cards in real hard toe caps they'd collapse should you push back hard boiled heads who've had their small brains scrambled soft jellies with no bone leaderless tape playing back hatred, sounding tough en masse, but not alone! see the victim wheelchair weak poor and homeless in the park now the wolves are closing in cowards hidden by the dark with their deadly killer dogs they think they're sharp just like the teeth but its racist paranoia bites them on their soft beneath hard boiled heads... they wash their minds in slogans white and hang them up until they've dried marching to a clean new world while running from the skunk inside hard boiled heads... soul less, booted human tanks they're crushing all that's different while smart, white collar criminals push cannon fodder to the front hard boiled heads...