The words of freedom on the tongue of a snake   With a democratic face bought and paid for by the lies of the state   Without a human trait well under the heels of a tyranny waits   A long forgotten voice   And revolution is the ultimate fate of the whip and the gun   Nowhere to run is nothing like fun   Out in the heat, Wild on the streets   Wild on the streets, wild on the streets   People listen to the words of a friend   To lie you have to breath   Television hey tell it again   The people pay no heed   We want equality but what do we get   Bullets and ballots again   Roll in your grave Beethoven and the death beat marches on   Nowhere to run is nothing like fun   Out in the heat, Wild on the streets   Wild on the streets, wild on the streets   On leather jackets and broken chain   In walls of mortar and ties   These are the words of our fate inscribed   Standing twelve feet high   Here are the free men who inherit the earth   Here are the words that died   Buried under six feet of dirt and the death beat marches on   Nowhere to run is nothing like fun   Out in the heat, Wild on the streets   Wild on the streets, wild on the streets