Stakes and torches Scimitars and bayonets Scythes, pitchforks A sickle with a sharpened edge Swords and spades And mallets that are made of lead Anything at hand Anything they can Help us to remove the head Of that filthy rich Fat son of a bitch While he's sleeping in his bed Storm the steps We break into the palace hall It's so majestic We are frozen in our awe Grandmother cries as she crumples to her knees Says, "I can understand That the rich demand An amount of luxury But I'd have never dreamed It was so extreme While we had nothing to eat"