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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Ghetto tabernacles congregate to hear the sons of Eli preachers beg and holla Saying to the colorful captive audience: they gonna get their piece of the pie in the by and by It’s waiting in the oven ... baking in the sky, and they will get their slice when they die But as for the here and now, the plastic preachers plead: You poor souls gotta dig in your pockets, out of your famine need You must give til your wallets and purses bleed, let your prayers show some real pain Shout loud to the ritzy preachers, whose flock live uptown Render supplications to their starry cloth God, whose wearing a tri-color striped suit Listen to the high place shepherds say: you ghetto sheep got nothing to lose So shut up ... get fleeced, and sing the money blues Cash register ring: Cha-ching ... cha-ching *$*$*$ Soul sorry sing: Slave quarters and plastic dollars; living in the poor projects, only got enough to get by Preachers beg and tongue holla; donate your welfare checks, buy a piece of the air pie Beware of those backward collars always asking for the silver coins and green dollars Telling you you’re gonna get your turn at the spigot Selling you a bunch of malarkey by a secular bigot Slave quarters and plastic dollars, just the same ole same old Preachers beg and politicians holla; the smart play: truth poured cold ... put your pocket money back on fold
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