All Their Children (feat. K.A.T.)

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Roman Redd

Roman Redd is a musical artist known for their captivating and unique sound. They blend various genres such as pop, R&B, and electronica to create their distinct musical style. With powerful vocals and emotive lyrics, Roman Redd's music resonates with a wide audience. Their talent and artistry have gained them a growing fan base, and they continue to impress with each release. more »

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You may find yourself
Barely in a suburban home
And you may tell yourself
I will say my prayers again
And you may tell yourself
One day that check will come in the mail
And you may tell yourself
I will offer up this sacrifice
You may ask yourself
When will I be free?
And you may ask yourself
Who took my beautiful wife?
And you may ask yourself
Where is is that large automobile?
And you may ask yourself
Is this all there is?
They turn on their TV’s
And the preacher man says
Blessed are the idle
Blessed are the repressed
Damned are their children
Crushed by their own stress
Blessed are the well born
Blessed are the Patriots
All their children kneel down, down, down, down, down
All their children kneel!
Bout to punk rock the mic
Gonna kill a couple Kennedys
Tongue cocked like a slide
I make the right type my enemies
I Smoke em to ash
And watch em choke on their cash
Got Kent State calling like Jesus Christ breathed his last
Got your cross cased in Ivory
Got no place for Samaritans
See the Gentiles dying
But it don't make you care again
They’re watching God's children choke
On their Culture War smoke
I send em straight up to God
Trade the sheep for the goats
Look
Addressing the elephants and the donkeys in the room
With different views
Hiding problems by using brooms
We call that crooked
Adjusting the information while vomiting common sense
To condense that the system could use a cleanse
Look out for bullets
Striking down opposition and competition
So the proletariat doesn’t have means of ammunition
God’s people need protection from all the wicked evil
Lost souls are the reason we are still unequal
They turn on their TV’s
They turn on their TV’s
And the preacher man says
Blessed are the idle
Blessed are the repressed
Damned are their children
Crushed by their own stress
Blessed are the well born
Blessed are the Patriots
All their children kneel down, down, down, down, down
All their children kneel!

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