What's going on? Nothing, it's personal
An eternal pain that I'll only share with the sky
The green-eyed monster, synonym of jealousy
Taxes water in the Sahel desert just to fill his jacuzzi
And that's the way it works in this hard-working world
The biggest cowards throw the first stone and then they hide
As ordered, co-ordinated, God orders us to pardon them.
I pardoned them. Gave love that nobody would give me back.
But why? Why? Blame the biz,
Blame the [dollar] bills, my son. Your vice becomes a motto
This millennium is monetary. The populace unpopular
You'd think The Golden Calf was running a promotion on a global scale
It justifies treachery. Trickery.
Economy is ever more wolves in the sheep-pen.
Is it the scumbags that we adulate? The kids of adults
Inculcate themselves with the new cult and catapult it round the globe
African choirs
And even the marginal leaders are selling baseball caps
Sneakers. A supermarket-based religion
My neurons are pushing and shoving, speeding like sperm cells then bam!
And in the people carrier, that was Ayrton Solaar!
In the slums people are dreaming about IMF funds
But deep down we know that families run closer to welfare minimums
The kids pinching from wallets to get themselves Pokemon
The era is bleak. Satan's stock is rising in value, I can see his pointed horns
But you were talking millions... of Saint-Emilions
But since there are thousands of us how many will be humiliated
The History of Art seems to be all dollar-coloured
And as Rico says, "This business is run by ham-fisted art-holes"
Apart from that, what's new? Nothing new, just bluff. I'm widowed.
With girls maybe you need to act all rough and tough
Give kisses and stay chilled like Jesus Christ
Or pull out the kriss let the 666 slip us in the abyss
And music? Do I like it? They want to put it in prison.
Imagine Cupid shooting poison arrows
It's a free space ... and they're putting it in a corner
Nails, pop clones, clowns, clans of garden gnomes.
That's why I always sit opposite to Pontius Pilate
Ricochet on the beat like a flat stone across water
Throw Surats and Psalms. Under the banner of the gnome.
With no chrome, a smile in my heart, boom in their home.
In the slums people are dreaming about IMF funds
But deep down we know that families run closer to welfare minimums
African choirs