Tekst :
Listen to this
All you douchebags
It s time that
We laid down the law
We re tired of
Taking your shit
And we ain t
Ggonna take it no more
Be prepared to fight and die
So that we may be free
And if you don t like it here
Then packs your shit and leave
Our forefathers died in war
So that you could live better
We at least own it to them
To keep the stars
And stripes forever
Planting bombs on planes
Blowing up our ships
Hill our kids and women
Find this dickless slobs
Hang them by the scrotum
Lets and the terrorism
You think yourself a God
Would follow to the death
A spineless yellow faggot
A bunoh of stiking slobs
Hiding behind masks
Show yourself ya maggot
United we stand
Divided we fall
And that s the way
It s gonna be
Don t ever for liberty
All the bullshit countries
Who think
They ll beat the giant
World peace on upheaval
We ll nuke em to the stoneage
Send the message clear
Ya don t fuck with the eagle
Tekst :
Awoken spirits of the carpathian forest come,
hands of the dead beat the kettle drums with wrath.
Wolfish hordes awoken by the fullmoon,
follow the smell of blood and death.
Tekst :
I suppose love lives in a dustbin behind the garden wall
You have to grovel on the ground and be pretty disgusting
to find it at all
And I suppose that it grows on you
Standing there with no clothes on,
and I suppose because there s beautiful girls in this town
I ll stay here till I ve chosen one.
I suppose life s like a hunt, really: the hounds have fun
until the fox gets bagged
And not one girl in this town will ever fall in love with me:
They ll get dragged.
Her heart speaks to me; says the room the room the room
beneath her dress, and I suppose that it beats for me
Like a hammering moon pulling tides through her chest
Suppose she says that she owes me
all that she owns and all that she is
It seems to me I suppose that her heart s not enough
and her love is a swizz.
So suppose love lives in a mansion
how the hell do I get over the wall?
And if my rope s not stretched the right tension
I won t cross this grand canyon at all.
And I suppose that it grows like a tumor, spreads like a rumor
like the grass grows and inch every day
And I suppose that before I even know it, the tide will start flowing
and the drum beneath my jacket will say:
You know you need her everyday
She is the moon and she showed me her face
She is the house and she opened the gates