Propagandhi New Homes for Idle Hands Letras:
Suburbs tremble again, fearing the have-nots at
the window, collecting their fair share. Guns and
alarms aren't enough. They demand justice, and
every criminal locked away, as well as any kid who
might do something wrong. There's a jail out of
town with fences so high we won't think about
who's inside. Neighbours are disappearing behind
the bars. Kids are doing time for petty crimes. It
don't matter who they are. It don't matter that
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they're alive. A warehouse for victims of
circumstance. Cops are rounding up slaves; workers
that can't complain or come late. A workforce
behind bars. They'll make gadgets, circuit boards
or fix cars. It don't matter who they are. It
don't matter that they're alive. Crime pays, ask
the bankers floating bonds to build cages for the
inner-city's "idle-handsi instead of schools.
Factories with fences meet the prisons without
walls. We shall have your skulls. They'll kick you
to the ground. You'll find yourself employed
again. On the inside.
Letras: New Homes for Idle Hands Propagandhi [final]