Florence and Normandie

Somewhere in Los Angeles There's a scene in the underground runaway sons of the greed generation They are all they have And so they riot like it's 1992 Florence and Normandie explode Kids raise their fists in the night In the pit, in the muck and the mire In the dirt, in the sweat and the holy fire The man's got a stranglehold of me I can see em' watching from above They like to call me a witless punk For playing the music that I love A backyard pit explodes There's danger in our honesty Fueled by punk and anger Against those motherfuckin fascists Alienation breeds creativity Alienation breeds community Burning through the backyards Burning through the empty lots Beyond our broken lives and homes Fighting for our stolen souls Florence and Normandie explode Kids raise their fists in the night In the pit, in the muck and the mire In the dirt, in the sweat and the holy fire Holy fire Holy fire Holy Fire Holy fire