This song I sing is not for sale. These words i scream to you
are real. No one can ever buy our lives. This music will
survive. Remember when we didn't play their game. We never
worried about money of fame. This punk rock music was so pure,
but now i'm not so sure. That your intentions are good and you
mean well now that the scene has become a product to sell.
Rebellion packaged in a plastic wrap. Lacking any substance to
digest. Dollar signs roll in countless eyes, and the magic
behind this music dies. Maybe the grass is greener on the other
side, but my anger doesn't have a price. I've seen my peers
lose their drive, and i've heard my heroes telling lies. I
won't turn my back on the kids. We've stood together through
thick and thin. Hardcore is not a stepping stone. Don't tread
on me on your way to the throne. Because i can see right
through your false emotion, and i won't buy into your glossy
promotion. Take your ego and your greed and get out of our scene.
