Rage Against the Machine

His spit is Worth more than her work
Pass the purse to the pugilists
He's a prizefighter
He bought rings and he owns kin
And now he's swingin'
And now he's the champion
Hey revolver, don't mothers make
Good fathers?
Revolver
A spotless domain
Hides festering hopes she's certain There's more
Pictures of fields without fences
Her body was numbs as he approaches the door
Hey revolver, don't mothers make
Good fathers?