The snipers are passed out In the bushes again I'm glad I got my suit dry-cleaned Before the riots started Cus there's only rehashed faces On the bread line tonight Soon you'll be a figment Of some infamous line Billionaires smile like weapons Passing out platinum pensions They're out of control No one knows how low they'll go (Hold on) Take a ride on a broken train Those bra burning deportees At the service station They know that beige Is the color of resignation We're out of control No one knows how low we'll go (Hold on) Take a ride on a broken train Shining like crystal tiaras Ghettos and grey Rivieras This is the real me ladies You won't find no shelter here Tell me, what's your zip code baby Did you ever let a cowboy sit on your lap?