We only had forty-five minutes

Before we were to start our show

Our roadies had set up our gear

And we were (more than) ready to go

Then the owner of the bar came to see us

And he told us that we would't get paid

The thrashers in the bar had to wonder why the show was delayed

Violence condoned

Cough up the dough

We packed our guitars, we got in our cars

We drove off and we never looked back

Six fucking albums, still dealing with welchers

I think I'm about to attack

I love all our fans but I'm sick of this, man

If you book us then we'd better get paid

The thrashers in the bar all showed him a mistake had been made

Fans irate, the time was late, they knew the band was gone

Tempers smoked, a riot broke, the violent clash was on

Chairs were thrown, damage sown, they paid to see the band

Bottles flying, underlying vengeance for the fans

Take a stand and never change your plans

Demand respect or be a useless fool

Never let the big shots get away

With thinking that they're making all the rules

If they think that you're a weakling

You'd better fight and show them it ain't true

Teach them all a violent lesson

And show them just what you can do

Revenge, revenge, support it each and every day

Revenge, revenge, violence blows the weasels away