I´m tired of lickin´ them boots that been-a-kickin´ me!
Sick of them sour grapes they keep-a pickin´ me!
Set loose your wings, cut the strings of your puppeteers
Freedom begins, baby, between your ears
Reach for the sky
You do not have to buy what they been advertisin´
Not when you´re mile high and risin!

Opened my eyes to the lies that´d been a-trickin´ me!
Cut all the horns, pulled the thorns that´d been-stickin´ me!

Chorus

If you got the feelin´ what they´re dealin´ got you livin´ under way too low a
Ceiling...
Cut through your doom and your gloom
C´mon and grab yourself some headroom

Chorus