Rich Folks Hoax
The moon is hanging in the purple skyThe baby's sleeping while its mother sighsTalking 'bout the rich folksRich folks have the same jokesAnd they park in basic places.
The priest is preaching from a shallow graveHe counts his money, then he paints you savedTalking to the young folksYoung folks share the same jokesBut they meet in older places.
So don't tell me about your successNor your recipes for my happinessSmoke in bedI never could digestThose illusions you claim to have going.
The sun is shining, as it's always doneCoffin dust is the fate of everyoneTalking 'bout the rich folksThe poor create the rich hoaxAnd only late breast-fed fools believe it.
So don't tell me about your successNor your recipes for my happinessSmoke in bedI never could digestThose illusions you claim to have going.