Herbert Grönemeyer

Hard Heads

Herbert Grönemeyer


on the street, it's blood and boots 
'round at mum's, they're tea and smiles 
on their own they're going nowhere 
but in their gang they can goosestep miles 

get the hard on when they're hunting 
prowling for their prey in packs 
real hard cards in real hard toe caps 
they'd collapse should you push back 

hard boiled heads 
who've had their small brains 
scrambled soft 
jellies with no bone 
leaderless tape 
playing back hatred, sounding tough 
en masse, but not alone! 

see the victim wheelchair weak 
poor and homeless in the park 
now the wolves are closing in 
cowards hidden by the dark 

with their deadly killer dogs 
they think they're sharp just like the teeth 
but its racist paranoia 
bites them on their soft beneath 

hard boiled heads... 

they wash their minds in slogans white 
and hang them up until they've dried 
marching to a clean new world 
while running from the skunk inside 

hard boiled heads... 

soul less, booted human tanks 
they're crushing all that's different 
while smart, white collar criminals 
push cannon fodder to the front 

hard boiled heads...