Queensberry Rules Lyrics
| Song | Queensberry Rules |
| Artist | Gallows |
| Album | Grey Britain |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Frank Carter | |
| 作曲 : Gallows | |
| [Verse 1] | |
| Scratch one more to the body count | |
| Another dead kid you don't care about | |
| Forget what the paper reads | |
| Safe in your house while another kid bleeds | |
| Everyone of us to blame | |
| For each capital teen who died in vain | |
| We are ****ing worse, if not the same | |
| We read the filth, but forget their names | |
| [Chorus] | |
| No money for a funeral | |
| 'Til you sell your story out to the world | |
| Hoods up, knifes out, "protect ya neck" | |
| With no remorse and no respect | |
| For every teen who lost their life | |
| Hung on the end of a kitchen knife | |
| Carve this cross into your chest | |
| To remind you of this ****ing mess | |
| [Verse 2] | |
| Kitchen knifes and the silent kill | |
| Gun shots start the rumour mill | |
| Let's take this back to the old school | |
| Live out our lives by the Queensberry rules | |
| Two fists clenched tight | |
| Two ****ing wrong-uns who both think they're right | |
| The bigger they are | |
| The harder they ****ing fall | |
| [Chorus] | |
| No money for a funeral | |
| 'Til you sell your story out to the world | |
| Hoods up, knifes out, "protect ya neck" | |
| With no remorse and no respect | |
| For every teen who lost their life | |
| Hung on the end of a kitchen knife | |
| We'll carve this cross into your chest | |
| To remind you of this ****ing mess | |
| [Breakdown] | |
| The union jack has burned away | |
| It's black and white, and it's ****ing grey | |
| The cells are cold, the streets the same | |
| Its been a dead summer, and we're praying for rain | |
| Your heart of gold is dead and cold | |
| You wonder when your dreams got old | |
| Walk yourselves down to the Thames | |
| Throw you knifes in so that this can end |
| zuo ci : Frank Carter | |
| zuo qu : Gallows | |
| Verse 1 | |
| Scratch one more to the body count | |
| Another dead kid you don' t care about | |
| Forget what the paper reads | |
| Safe in your house while another kid bleeds | |
| Everyone of us to blame | |
| For each capital teen who died in vain | |
| We are ing worse, if not the same | |
| We read the filth, but forget their names | |
| Chorus | |
| No money for a funeral | |
| ' Til you sell your story out to the world | |
| Hoods up, knifes out, " protect ya neck" | |
| With no remorse and no respect | |
| For every teen who lost their life | |
| Hung on the end of a kitchen knife | |
| Carve this cross into your chest | |
| To remind you of this ing mess | |
| Verse 2 | |
| Kitchen knifes and the silent kill | |
| Gun shots start the rumour mill | |
| Let' s take this back to the old school | |
| Live out our lives by the Queensberry rules | |
| Two fists clenched tight | |
| Two ing wronguns who both think they' re right | |
| The bigger they are | |
| The harder they ing fall | |
| Chorus | |
| No money for a funeral | |
| ' Til you sell your story out to the world | |
| Hoods up, knifes out, " protect ya neck" | |
| With no remorse and no respect | |
| For every teen who lost their life | |
| Hung on the end of a kitchen knife | |
| We' ll carve this cross into your chest | |
| To remind you of this ing mess | |
| Breakdown | |
| The union jack has burned away | |
| It' s black and white, and it' s ing grey | |
| The cells are cold, the streets the same | |
| Its been a dead summer, and we' re praying for rain | |
| Your heart of gold is dead and cold | |
| You wonder when your dreams got old | |
| Walk yourselves down to the Thames | |
| Throw you knifes in so that this can end |
| zuò cí : Frank Carter | |
| zuò qǔ : Gallows | |
| Verse 1 | |
| Scratch one more to the body count | |
| Another dead kid you don' t care about | |
| Forget what the paper reads | |
| Safe in your house while another kid bleeds | |
| Everyone of us to blame | |
| For each capital teen who died in vain | |
| We are ing worse, if not the same | |
| We read the filth, but forget their names | |
| Chorus | |
| No money for a funeral | |
| ' Til you sell your story out to the world | |
| Hoods up, knifes out, " protect ya neck" | |
| With no remorse and no respect | |
| For every teen who lost their life | |
| Hung on the end of a kitchen knife | |
| Carve this cross into your chest | |
| To remind you of this ing mess | |
| Verse 2 | |
| Kitchen knifes and the silent kill | |
| Gun shots start the rumour mill | |
| Let' s take this back to the old school | |
| Live out our lives by the Queensberry rules | |
| Two fists clenched tight | |
| Two ing wronguns who both think they' re right | |
| The bigger they are | |
| The harder they ing fall | |
| Chorus | |
| No money for a funeral | |
| ' Til you sell your story out to the world | |
| Hoods up, knifes out, " protect ya neck" | |
| With no remorse and no respect | |
| For every teen who lost their life | |
| Hung on the end of a kitchen knife | |
| We' ll carve this cross into your chest | |
| To remind you of this ing mess | |
| Breakdown | |
| The union jack has burned away | |
| It' s black and white, and it' s ing grey | |
| The cells are cold, the streets the same | |
| Its been a dead summer, and we' re praying for rain | |
| Your heart of gold is dead and cold | |
| You wonder when your dreams got old | |
| Walk yourselves down to the Thames | |
| Throw you knifes in so that this can end |
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