Mean Streets

It’s not easy outside, looking in
Never being part of things, they say that we have sinned.
We stand alone, those precious few, they know that we won’t hide.
We’re surrounded by Red mobs, and police who take their side.

We’re out on the mean streets, out in the city.
We’re out on the mean streets, everywhere.
We’re out on the mean streets, out in the city.
We’re out on the mean streets, the fighting is there.

What’s that smell, what’s this hell, it’s democracy.
Who owns the press? We can guess, the ones with the money.
One man, one vote, but still they gloat, the media has control.
Three party state, decides our fate, and the TV owns our souls.

We’re attacked behind our backs, we’re doing all we can.
If the knife should take our life, at least we never ran.
We know the Reds are in the beds, police tucked by their sides.
The real scum are the ones who run, and once we believed their lies.