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"