Against his will he’s confined in a notorious cell block mansion
Inmate number B-33920 his name, Charles Manson.
Some say he’s a prophet of living disaster
I beg to differ for what I can honestly see,
Never under estimate our power for he is also a vision master.
So charismatic diamonds start to fall off his tongue
There picking them up as his blessed words begin to flow.
Paying for a crime he never did any wrong
The panel was rigged and the prosecutor
Knew which way the final verdict would go.
Living in fear all the members of the jury
If it were random picks I’d be the hold out
Just to see the audience eyes become burning blurry
And to watch the splinters fly in the air
As the gavel comes smashing down in a hurry.
Denying freedom each and every time
The parole board does forever plan.
Under duress they have no choice for they been warned
Secretly hiding behind alias screen names
I predict there also joining his internet fan club clan.
Exploiting him for their own financial gain
The state’s making profits just because of his name
And to me they are the ones, who are savage
Because if the DOC loses custody of their celebrity
They then will lose their stimulus package.
At head count his body may physically be there
But in his mind, he’s walking on warm desert sand
As he pretends he is in Death Valley.
As for me, I’m lurking in the street
And hiding in a back alley.

Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter
Let him go, let him go, let him go!

(SirCARSr. 12-6-13)