Queensberry Rules

Scratch 1 more to the body count
Another dead kid you don't care about
Forget what the papers read
Safe in your house while another kid bleeds
Everyone of us to blame
For each capital teen who died in vain
We are fucking worse if not the same
We read the filth and forget the names

No money for a funeral
'Til you sell your story out to the world
Hoods up, knives out, protect you neck
With no remorse and no respect
And 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 and 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 there're right
The bigger they are
The harder they fucking fall

No money for a funeral
'Til you sell your story out to the world
Hoods up, knives out, protect you neck
With no remorse and no respect
And 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
Its black and white and its fucking grey
The cells are cold, the streets are the same
It's been a dead summer and were praying for rain
Your heart of gold is dead and cold
And you wonder when your dreams got old
Walk yourselves down to the flames
And throw you knifes in so that this can end