Album: The Revolution Continues (2009)Sweatbox
Welcome to the sweatbox, crammed in like sardines, raise ya fist it's open mic with a twist, there's no stage, no barrier, no bouncer banning dives, just under 100 of us coming alive, whether hooded, skin, hair or new era we all share this dance floor with each other, so duck and cover or brush it off, or simply stand at the back then pick a point to move to your favourite track,
World wide, every city has it's own, a little hard rock hot spot, that spot where the shows blow your socks off, a real loss if we lost yet another but they cant take away what built this, DIY, how many know what he means here, how many choose small gigs over sixth tier stadium shit, mic smashed to bits coz the crowd don't leave you alone,
Years go by and were still loving this, we all made a good choice, were all here tonight and even if my face ain't about as much as then, were still filling these floors, and on the outside wel all share a drink, here's to the good gigs gone and the thought of plenty more, those inside wait patiently, toes at the edge of the deep end, stunned eyes of a few new comers, they see an empty space blitzed,
From the bottom of our hearts, on the highest of mountains, we all climb to sing along, and then comes the drop that sets the room alight,
Harder, louder, we could bring this place down, if your on it let's have a show of strength, step forward and shine now,
Some do dog us for the way we dance, swing legs and arms so get a guard up, and keep it high coz you don't wanna miss what's next,
What kind of dance is this then, that's a newcomer nervous, kicked not on purpose, off he brushes his shirt, nose is bloodied, he smiles, claps and then he hits the floor.