| The illness prolific, let the wordsmith begin. | |
| Haste with reservation, neither chi or Zen | |
| Could create quite the conflict. | |
| All are not know and not seen. | |
| Eclipsed in the credit of creation. A murky at best running stream | |
| Of these men who claim contact, by pointing their limbs to the sky. | |
| They were so special and chosen, to place all this fear in disguise of | |
| Jesus Faux King Christ. | |
| A martyr symbolic to this very day | |
| A scapegoat for most I am sorry to say. | |
| Hundreds of years, of serving up fire | |
| Enough to manipulate, not to inspire | |
| Jesus Faux King Christ! | |
| Taxless and corporate in "Gambino" ways | |
| A pleasant umbrella just do what he says. | |
| Our evolution proved, that all else is fraud | |
| The sun and the moon is what I call god. | |
| The madness horrific, let your wordplay end. | |
| You've got no reservation, all just earth on the mend | |
| That's what creates your little conflict. | |
| Your ticket to ride has expired. | |
| Your owed no credit for creation, just blame for the shame you've conspired. | |
| To be all these men who have contact. | |
| You point all your hopes to the sky You are not special or chosen | |
| Just fear in disguise of Jesus Faux King Christ! |
YouTube搜索结果 (转至YouTube)