(Verse 1)
One government under confessions of the tampered with.
Rough necking philanthropist;
Blood sending from clambered fists.
Budge big brother to the panels, add judges plus analysts,
Trekking roads set to explode, exposing the scam artist.
To puppets prancing, answer this.
Who'd love cancerous standards nixed?
Switching to anchor lifting sanctums,
No picket rants or banners banning scandalous tricks'll
Pan this wish, plans of a mannerist.
Stand in stance for risk, grand lifting hands branded, [Anarchist!]
Hammer Grips raise wind, create swift violence;
Binging syringe veins, a slay fix, betrayed imps' diet.
From planes to pilots, stray the iris away from matrix science
Straining energy for enemies, made into heinous tyrants.
[Break the silence]
Reckoned yes men with second guessing the system.
'Sick em's said, aggressive kicking;
Crippled limping eight"six giants.
Minus clients buying into the issues of pro greed.
No need for tissues, save the sinus blazing in with makeshift riots.

(Chorus 1)
So, tear it down!
Nothing left will be found!
Yeah, so tear it down.
Check it.

(Eli Roots' Verse)






(Chorus 2)
So, tear it down!
Nothing left will be found!
Yeah, so tear it down.
Bring it.

(Verse 3)
Equip an ape with stigma grade brigades, the chimp'll pillage, raid
A village kid parades innate of digging graves were minute made;
Litigating civics in a flipping rage, clip engaged,
But *click click* fuck, shit is stuck. Quick, unpin grenades.
There rolls a thousand Arab heads, but no.
How's Srgt. Clarence dead?
Syndicating indications: Nation wits of bitter taste.
Replacing mission: 'Fixing Aches', with
'Drift in, wreck the next ditch or base,
Until it's safe to rid the waste. Bring in the H.
Yeah, force feed me wisdom,
Or force feed me torture mythic orcs eat in prison.
Either sore dream breeds depicting morphined visions,
Morphing morgues'll sore,
Or we could form elite divisions.
Overthrow the real culprit etiquette ; choking culprits, president.
My cup'll runneth over if floor seats are given.
If racking up stacked pesos' the core creed of killing,
Then that's it; case closed, no more need to...

(Chorus 3)
So, tear it down!
Nothing left will be found!
Yeah, so tear it down.