The Stench Of Hardcore Pub Trash

Conquer and divide us, the old grey tote is dying.
Now we're marching up over the hill, the dero, drunk, broke rockers.
You think we're gone but we're coming for you,
We'll be back with better songs, better riffs, better pills.
Determined, won't be gone without blood,
I've got a meeting in an alley and I'm buying a gun.
Spastic, and relentless, a little drastic, unrepentant.
Hands off, your pissing me off!
Yhe stench of hardcore pub trash remains!