You Don't Get To Name Me

[Intro]
You want a leash? Come take a bite.

[Verse 1]
You sold your sermon by the pound,
Then blamed the ones who heard the sound.
You kiss the ring, you guard the gate,
You call it law when you call it hate.

[Verse 2]
You grin for cameras, count the cuts,
Then tell the bruised to shut the fuck up.
You dress your greed in borrowed grace—
I see the rot beneath your face.

[Pre-Chorus]
You don't get to name me.
You don't get to own me.

[Chorus]
Fuck you, your throne, your little rules,
Your polished lies, your crooked tools.
Fuck you—I'm done playing nice.
You made this mess; now pay the price.

[Verse 3]
[Voice A]
You built a cage and called it home.
[Voice B]
You locked the door and took the key.
[Voice A]
You preach control from safe ground.
[Voice B]
Come down here and answer me.

[Pre-Chorus]
You don't get to name me.
You don't get to own me.

[Chorus]
Fuck you, your throne, your little rules,
Your polished lies, your crooked tools.
Fuck you—I'm done playing nice.
You made this mess; now pay the price.

[Bridge]
[Voice A]
I kept the list. I know the names.
[Voice B]
I heard the locks click all the same.
[Both]
No more kneeling, no more shame—
You lit the fuse. You fed the flame.

[Breakdown]
Say it to my face!
Say it to my face!
Fuck your fear, fuck your frame—
You don't get to bury my name!

[Final Chorus]
Fuck you, your throne, your little rules,
Your polished lies, your crooked tools.
Fuck you—this time, hear me right:
We walk out breathing. You lose tonight.

[Outro]
You don't get to name me.
You don't get to own me.
Fuck you.

industrial metal fused with post-hardcore, alternative metal, and theatrical shock rock; downtuned detuned guitar riffs, metallic percussion, pounding live drums, distorted bass, alarm-like synth accents; tense stop-start verses erupt into a huge shouted chorus; two contrasting vocalists trading lines, one harsh and snarling, one fierce and melodic, joining in gang shouts; abrasive close vocal production, gritty saturated guitars, hard-edged dynamic mix