Hub City Stompers Night Of The Living
We're zombies who reclaim this rotted wasteland of a scene.
It once was fatty bacon but you made it 'Sizzlean'.
A silly plastic world of kissing ass and dropping names.
We never puckered up and wouldn't play your reindeer games.
Your head went up your anus when ska went 'Hollywood'.
You went off to get famous and hoped we were gone for good.
You prayed we'd kick the bucket, dry up and rot away.
Well now you all can SUCK IT 'cause we're back to spoil your day.
Dreadlocks and 'hawks, clean shaved heads.
Sound underground back from the dead.
Roots bring the boots hard to the floor.
Hate all you want...we'll make more.
No white, suburban kid came off of the Banana boat,
And if you went to Kingston they would cut your poser throat.
Remember that next time you're pushing your 'Skathority'.
We laugh at your 'traditional' superiority.
You thought you'd live forever as you turned with shoulders cold.
Your little traddy-faddy didn't take long to get old.
So if you want to stay on live then check your attitude,
'Cause putting on a suit and tie, it doesn't make you 'rude'.
You know you chug the pickle, you can't deny the truth,
To fall in with the fickle, mindless masses of the youth,
Who follow like lost puppies to every little scene,
That's hijacked by the yuppies just to make a bunch of green.
To think yourself untouchable in this new day and age,
We'll take your piss and vinegar and stomp it out with rage.
To think I'm here to beg for cheer, well I'm not in the mood,
'Cause baggy plaid for silly fad, it doesn't make you 'rude'.
