Queensberry Rules

Scratch one more to the body count Another dead kid you don't care about Forget what the papers read Safe in your house while another kid bleeds Everyone of us to blame For each capital teen who died in vain We are fucking worse if not the same We read the filth and forget the names No money for a funeral 'til you sell your story out to the world Hoods up, knifes out, "protect ya neck" With no remorse and no respect And for every teen who lost their life Hung on the end of a kitchen knife We will carve this cross into your chest To remind you of this fucking mess Kitchen knifes and the silent kill Gun shots start the rumour mill Lets take this back to the old school Live out our lives by the Queensberry rules Two fists clenched tight Two fucking wrong-uns who both think there're right The bigger they are The harder they fucking fall No money for a funeral 'til you sell your story to the rest of the world Hoods up, knifes out, "protect ya neck" No remorse and no respect And for every teen who lost there life Hung on the end of a kitchen knife We will carve a cross into your chest To remind you of this fucking mess The union jack has bled away It's black and white and it's fucking grey The cells are cold, the streets are the same Its been a dead summer and were praying for rain Your heart of gold is dead and cold And you wonder when your dreams got old Walk yourselves down to the Thames And throw you knifes in so that this can end