Witchdoctors of wall street
Maketh potions of poor man's disgrace
Angels still left on earth
Dying to get back to their place
Their sick of the heartbreak
Humans tend to bring
All it would taketh
Is a lightning strike
To make those humans fully believeth in pain!!!
Pillars of salt the cities hath become
Liquor stores to stupor one down
Some weareth pearly apparel
High class yet ( not found)
These fancy dressers
Pick and choose
The lives they wanna live
Whilst the angels sit on back
Saying do not taketh mine friend
But giveth...
Pilate like rulers
Rule by sharpened tongue
Making gods of figurine's
Lying in another mates secretion
Thinking they haveth won..
Cloying masters
Of tyrent rage
Emptied out of the bag
False lovers of nothing more
Than control whilst at hand
Club-women
And club-men
Hanging out at bar (clazelle)
Sold their soul to Satan
For a night of wine and hell
They fraternize their wicked schemes
Whilst making one quick buck
Wherein is that dying breed
Lost on mountain musk?
They freck thee with smooches
They leaveth thee the next day
Fratriciders of suicide
To their friends and family decay
Ideomotor ideas doth come
At least to those who art lost
Gaveth all they've had
For a fake idea and posh
But it shalt all endeth soon
The storms now rolling in
A hurricane of sweet refuge
No more cheaters to lovers sin!!
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 7:56 AM UTC
Witchdoctors of wall street
Maketh potions of poor man's disgrace
Angels still left on earth
Dying to get back to their place
Their sick of the heartbreak
Humans tend to bring
All it would taketh
Is a lightning strike
To make those humans fully believeth in pain!!!
Pillars of salt the cities hath become
Liquor stores to stupor one down
Some weareth pearly apparel
High class yet ( not found)
These fancy dressers
Pick and choose
The lives they wanna live
Whilst the angels sit on back
Saying do not taketh mine friend
But giveth...
Pilate like rulers
Rule by sharpened tongue
Making gods of figurine's
Lying in another mates secretion
Thinking they haveth won..
Cloying masters
Of tyrent rage
Emptied out of the bag
False lovers of nothing more
Than control whilst at hand
Club-women
And club-men
Hanging out at bar (clazelle)
Sold their soul to Satan
For a night of wine and hell
They fraternize their wicked schemes
Whilst making one quick buck
Wherein is that dying breed
Lost on mountain musk?
They freck thee with smooches
They leaveth thee the next day
Fratriciders of suicide
To their friends and family decay
Ideomotor ideas doth come
At least to those who art lost
Gaveth all they've had
For a fake idea and posh
But it shalt all endeth soon
The storms now rolling in
A hurricane of sweet refuge
No more cheaters to lovers sin!!
