| Song | Get Up |
| Artist | Skid Row |
| Album | United World Rebellion: Chapter One |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Indecisions pre-empt holy war | |
| Every religion has it’s | |
| Drunkard and whores | |
| We’re only your savior in the days of your need | |
| Yet you drag our dead bodies through your piss | |
| Landed streets | |
| Your gods are guns that make you run to what you | |
| Can’t conceive | |
| Sit back and feed our wealth | |
| Give me a bomb and I’ll drop it myself | |
| Get up- get ready to go | |
| Get up- you know you got to | |
| Get up- ‘cause she’s ready to blow | |
| Get up | |
| Get up- get ready to go | |
| Get up- you got to, got to | |
| Get up- ‘cause she’s ready to blow | |
| Get up | |
| Done is the hatred that is scaling our walls | |
| Won’t turn a blind eye when you’re storming our halls | |
| If only once you had the presence of mind | |
| You’d appreciate your fears if we left you behind | |
| Does not our being to burn away in eastern sun? | |
| Bury your heads in the sand | |
| Then celebrate with out blood on your hand | |
| Sit back and feed on the wealth | |
| Hand me the bomb and I’ll drop it myself |
| Indecisions preempt holy war | |
| Every religion has it' s | |
| Drunkard and whores | |
| We' re only your savior in the days of your need | |
| Yet you drag our dead bodies through your piss | |
| Landed streets | |
| Your gods are guns that make you run to what you | |
| Can' t conceive | |
| Sit back and feed our wealth | |
| Give me a bomb and I' ll drop it myself | |
| Get up get ready to go | |
| Get up you know you got to | |
| Get up ' cause she' s ready to blow | |
| Get up | |
| Get up get ready to go | |
| Get up you got to, got to | |
| Get up ' cause she' s ready to blow | |
| Get up | |
| Done is the hatred that is scaling our walls | |
| Won' t turn a blind eye when you' re storming our halls | |
| If only once you had the presence of mind | |
| You' d appreciate your fears if we left you behind | |
| Does not our being to burn away in eastern sun? | |
| Bury your heads in the sand | |
| Then celebrate with out blood on your hand | |
| Sit back and feed on the wealth | |
| Hand me the bomb and I' ll drop it myself |
| Indecisions preempt holy war | |
| Every religion has it' s | |
| Drunkard and whores | |
| We' re only your savior in the days of your need | |
| Yet you drag our dead bodies through your piss | |
| Landed streets | |
| Your gods are guns that make you run to what you | |
| Can' t conceive | |
| Sit back and feed our wealth | |
| Give me a bomb and I' ll drop it myself | |
| Get up get ready to go | |
| Get up you know you got to | |
| Get up ' cause she' s ready to blow | |
| Get up | |
| Get up get ready to go | |
| Get up you got to, got to | |
| Get up ' cause she' s ready to blow | |
| Get up | |
| Done is the hatred that is scaling our walls | |
| Won' t turn a blind eye when you' re storming our halls | |
| If only once you had the presence of mind | |
| You' d appreciate your fears if we left you behind | |
| Does not our being to burn away in eastern sun? | |
| Bury your heads in the sand | |
| Then celebrate with out blood on your hand | |
| Sit back and feed on the wealth | |
| Hand me the bomb and I' ll drop it myself |