We talk about the poor how they cry for more But our luxury web don't give a shit about that And those ages think about those generous kings It's a laughing disease that makes them please
So open your eyes and see These are the nineties Open your mind and feel This is the twentieth century
The chemical mist shall kill and twist But our last patrol must save it all It's money that talks like a stoned whore But she sticks you in the back if you want to snap