The preachers from the pulpits of power   Leaders of cloth, they preach to our empty pockets   And the same gang with different colors   Plays up to the dialect of establishment   Will you take our pain, will you throw bread   To us from high above?      We will stay true to trust on these streets   But I won't be corrupted or stuck on repeat      The preachers from the pulpits of power   Leaders of cloth, they preach to our empty pockets   And the same gang with different colors   Plays up, raise up any flag we fly   Any war we buy it, any war   Will you take our pain, will you throw bread   To us from high above?      We will stay true to trust on these streets   But I won't be corrupted or stuck on repeat      Yet the workers rage in the empire days   The ratchet thrown in the childrens mills   The bootstrap lies in the patriot plays   The burning fires on these hills   This road grows      The preachers from the pulpits of power   Leaders of cloth, they preach to our empty pockets   And the same gang with different colors   Plays up to the dialect of establishment   Will you take our pain, will you throw bread   To us from high above?