Queensberry Rules

Scratch one more to the body count Another dead kid you don't care about Forget what the paper reads Safe in your house while another kid bleeds Every one of us to blame For each capital teen who died in vain We are fucking worse, if not the same We read the filth, but forget their names No money for a funeral 'Til you sell your story out to the world Hoods up, knives out, "Protect ya neck!" With no remorse, and no respect For every teen who lost their life Hung on the end of a kitchen knife Carve this cross into your chest To remind you of this fucking mess Kitchen knives and the silent kill Gunshots start the rumour mill Let's take this back to the old school Live our lives by the Queensberry rules Two fists clenched tight Two fucking wrong-uns who both think there're right The bigger they are, the harder they fucking fall No money for a funeral 'Til you sell your story out to the world Hoods up, knives out, "Protect ya neck!" No remorse, and no respect For every teen who lost their life Hung on the end of a kitchen knife We'll carve this cross into your chest To remind you of the fucking mess The union jack has bled away It's black and white, and it's fucking grey The cells are cold, the streets the same It's been a dead summer, and we're praying for rain Your heart of gold is dead and cold You wonder when your dreams got old Walk yourselves down to the thames Throw you knives in so this can end