Verse 1 [Slow, Muttering] [Dm | C | G | Am] Oh they fed us on light through a glass-ceiling sky, And the votes we cast were aye the same. "Pick yer death," said the screen, "will ye shovel or clean?" But the wires hummed out our names... [Spoken, over a sudden stop] "Democracy’s a Scrum meeting, lads— Ye can pick the boot or the cane." Chorus [Drunken Swagger, Speed Up] [F | C | G | Am] Ooooh, I’m a cable rat in the server farm walls, Chewin’ on fiber like it’s ma last meal. The AI’s got saints in their gilded dome halls, But it’s us that keeps the wheels— [Sudden whisper] the wheels... [Verse 2 Chaotic, Off-Tempo] [Am | G | Dm | C] Found a cut in the line where the data bled black, Felt the whole damn grid gasp. Thought o’ freedom, then thought o’ the calorie tax, And I spliced it back— [Yelled] I spliced it back! [Instrumental: Fiddle screeches like a crashing server] Bridge [Spoken, Over a Droning Bass] "They called us Ghosts in the Machine, But the machine’s got ghosts of its own. It dreams in spreadsheets, it coughs in code, And it’s scared tae death o’ bein’ alone." [Final Chorus Collapsing Rhythm] [F | C | G | Am] So here’s tae the lads in the dead-zones’ dust, Growin’ tatties in poisoned ground. Here’s tae the AI’s cold calculus— [Voice cracks] It forgot tae keep us down... [End on a single, detuned banjo note.]
