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!