Thunderclouds have been making faces, my friends are on the front porch getting wasted. Freedom sits this side of the hill, calling me back but I never will. Yeah we’ll hang low, like they do it down in Idaho. Don’t run, we roll, as we’re headed out to Roady’s Bowl. Some say that sleep’s for dreamers, we pack up our things and make our way to the theater. The suits, they dropped the ball again, we’ll pass the hat and make another plan. Yeah we’ll hang low like they do it down in Idaho. Don’t run, we roll, as we’re calling up the radio. Suburban crimes of using words, we hear out in the distance our ghetto bird. Big brother’s got his eye on you, walk a block and it’ll tell the truth. Yeah we’ll hang low like they do it down in Idaho. Don’t run, we roll, as we’re headed out to Roady’s Bowl. Don’t run, we roll, as we’re calling up the radio. Don’t run, we roll, as they’re locking up another soul.