In the draft board here we sit
Covered o'er with Nixon's shit
While our sweat is turning Agnew's filthy mill
And the people, as they pass
They jam Melvin up our ass
Well I guess we've had our goddam fucking fill

Fight, fight, fight for liberation
Break, break, break the social scheme
We will drag the bastards down
And we'll grind 'em in the ground
And replace them with a working class regime

Then we'll send a firing squad
After Cardinal Spellman's God
MacNamara will be the next in line
Then we'll pump some LSD
Into Jackie Kennedy
And we'll make her fuck the workers overtime

Then we'll get a bloody rope
And we'll hang the fuckin' pope
And we'll burn the Sistine Chapel to the ground
Then we'll turn our tommy-guns
On the screaming, ravished nuns
And the peoples' voice will be the only sound

So if you hate the Working Class,
But you'd like to save your ass
Then you better give your money to the poor!
Or we'll sell your mother's twat
To a sailor on your yacht
And we'll turn your favorite daughter to a whore!