🎛️ Intro you are free to do as they tell you you are free to do as they tell you In the mills of old Manchester, the looms began to roar, Cotton ships from distant shores rolled up to England’s door. That common field, that ancient right, Stolen from us in the night. And the merchants counted profits by the lantern’s steady glow, Never seeing all the shadows where the real cost tended to grow. A fence post slammed, a lawyer's lie, Beneath a cold and profit-eye. 🔥 Pre‑Chorus / Build They say the world is broken, that the dream has gone astray, But the rules were always written for the few who never pay. They call it "progress," call it "law," The same old theft we always saw. 🎚️ Hook Drop I’m free to do what I want, any old time, you are free to do as they tell you 🎺 Verse / Call Now the City’s built on ledgers where the numbers never sleep, Shells within the shadows where the secrets run so deep. They sell the land, they sell the sky, And tell the common man to die. Corporations cross the borders, but the workers stay confined, And the ones who preach of “failure” leave the truth far behind. ⚡ Chorus Switch ENCLOSURE! The commons disappear! ENCLOSURE! And they sell the fear! They call it progress, a better way— It’s just they’re stealing all the day… PRIMITIVE ACCUMULATION! 🔥 Chorus A Cotton turned to oil, but the story’s still the same, A different kind of empire, a different kind of flame. From the mills to silver towers where the quiet money flows, The world keeps turning on the things nobody wants to disclose. 🌉 Bridge / Diggers I remember what the Diggers said, With hooves and hands and common bread: "THE EARTH A COMMON TREASURY FOR ALL!" Before they came to build their wall. Some nations tried another path, a different kind of dream, But pressure from the outside pulled them down at every seam. History’s not a simple tale of systems lost or won, It’s shaped by every power that decides what must be done. 🎚️ Hook & Chant (rising) ENCLOSURE! The commons disappear! ENCLOSURE! And they sell the fear! From Manchester to commons where the hidden fences grow, The past is in the present more than anyone lets show. Digger’s blood in this dirt I stand… They stole the deed from my hand. 🌤️ Outro So here’s to all the stories that were buried in the ground, To the fields that fed the people, to the hands that built the towns. I’m free to do what I want— you are free to do as they tell you PRIMITIVE ACCUMULATION… still written in the lines.
