One in three dollars becomes one in ten dollars
Becomes uncountable proud colored men shackled in steel collars
Your stackable skin targets become millions of men marching
Becomes families within margins, where the skin around the ribs hardens
And pardon the near-departed who clearly took part in carving
A good chunk of wealth for themselves and left us to pick through garbage
We're starving, and you don't know starving till you're really fucking starving
Till them thangs like hunger pangs and the sickening starts in
This isn't, shit, I missed a meal, man I'm not feeling so well
This is I'd rather fucking die, if there was life in this shell
This is a fiction we can no longer afford
A known affliction that sickens, and yet we soften the sword
We pile sticks upon sticks, till we finally sticks in a torch
And I'm thinking, Jiminy Crickets, this shit's just par for the course
Of course, I'm likely biased towards the guy in the Porsche
But who knows?
He might be fond of fucking Honda Accords
Who knows?
He might swing by, say hi, and buy me a drink
Then we're in bed together, besties
He calls me Jesse, I think?
Hoodwinked and toes tickled, commuted, the firm's silent
You see, the middle's still on the nipple while syphilis burns inside us
Opened wide are the red sores at the doors of an orange tyrant
And if hindsight's twenty-twenty, I'm betting twenty on blindness