The Working Dead by QELD Lyrics

[Bob Savage]
Militant daydreams
Sick of their payschemes
Assad buncha cunts like the Syrian regime
Ain't spitting it mainstream
We're underground, crawl from the grave
Kush Zombies came for a draw of your grade
All of your grade, mate, call it a plague
Graveyard rap, don't call it a spade
...Typical workers
Political murders
Give CEOs real physical mergers
No longer love life, nah they're living it scared
'cos Q E L D be the Living Impaired
Honestly, gotta be
Zombie economy
Q E L D: South West Sean Connery
Dead man monopoly
No red man that's stopping me
No green cross code, don't flow that monotony
Stop look n listen
Got kush n piff in
Wasteman rap but you're not looking spiffing
You're not crook you're snitching
You're not good at spitting
Your rap face is how mine looks when I'm shitting
Yo... it's the old trouble starters
Keep kicking off like the Tolpuddle Martyrs
Haymarket Rioting
They start admiring
My Goodness Gracious Great Bars are Firing
Voodoo labour, graveyards are hiring
Night of the Working Dead, they aren't retiring
Work us to death, get played hard like violins
Mozart or Godspeed
Bogart your bogweed
White Walker rap, Jenre Baratheon
Savage man Bobby Dothraki
You can't roll, you've forgotten your baccy
Mad Potter like Harry, they keep on trying me
But I know what's Wat-son, Hermione
Hodor emcees stop riding me
Irony
I respect you like the state respects your privacy