The minds of man are turning,
always yearning for more.

Heads are always rolling,
demanding perfection or else.

What constitutes that I'm another bill?
I think I mean more than you think I do.

Raise your fist to have it torn back down.
You have to stand your ground.

Put our nose to the grindstone,
only to lose our pay.

Men sit around, don't get their hands *****,
but think they have the right to take it away.

See the dollar signs in their eyes.
Money running through their veins.

We're just slaves for the industry.
We're stuck in the maze.

Everything is made of gold,
all they want is more.

We're just another bill,
they slip in their back pocket.