Soldiers

Our hair is rough and unwashed, Better and over lies. Our clothes are torn to pieces, nasty, Full of pain. We wear it with shaky leather, cartridge belts and Patch crafts. Our shoes belong to Satan, Master of all pain. Bang your heads against the stage, Dive in the thrashing crowd. We mosh! We are aliens, we are proud. Heavy is our music, fast and loud. We can't attend a concert, the band begins to Play. After all the drugs and beer, Our reason's blown away. A poser in a black robe who doesn't bang His head Is aggressed and put on fire, but till he's Really dead. We drink beer with our chemicals, with pussies but So happy. Curse the gods, ignore the Indians, For our brains and sanity. Search the highest value on the musical ability. We are sure that our favorite idol band play AC. Bang your heads, big, fast and loud.