Grinding gears in parked cars A peeled out burnout on a strip mall tip A short rip to impress the boys Because fucking up was the only choice Yeah fucking up was the only choice And hold out your hand The wrist spits blood A soul at arm's length Twisting in the wind We can't judge it from where we stand And hold out your hand The wrist spits blood There's no freedom in this land And you can do your part To feel you're not at fault So sit up straight And take it on the chin There's no freedom in this land And hold out your hand The wrist spits blood