SNAKE BANKERS
Snake bankers say, “I am doing the work of God.”
Dreaded delusional thinking
Drowning righteousness and justice
The work of God is not for them to know
Unknowingly they plan their own destruction
Great wicked vampires who suck out money
From every human and earthly source
For their special sauce bottled with rampant greed
Made in the Wall Street rat cellar kitchens
Buried deep under the City of Death
Founded by the empty mindless tribes
Still stinking of centuries of unsatisfied poverty
Whose lizard brains shuffle cash continuously
And people are seen only as THEIR money
Where everyone drinks a Satanic brew
Made by a single mother of 40
Who wanted to be a concert violinist
But now stirs sauce smiling stupidly in the rat kitchens
Where human disasters are considered treasures
And instead of music, money now runs in her veins
And she knows where every penny is lodged
Where the only sound she ever hears now
Is the snap of festering banknotes
In the mindless mad heartless pit of villainy
Where the rat-tat-tat soggy bank instruments sit
By the big thugs who once had big brains now gone bad
Picking apart whatever strand of harmony that once existed.
Brutal beasts nourished on Satan’s nippled t.ts
Goons made to kill by Wall Street witches’ clever tricks
Not clubbing baby seals in the basement
But fresh melodies made for lullabies by angels
Now cut up into dissent chunks for stew
By the money addicts directing the kitchen’s brew
While donkeys driven by carrot scented whips of cash
Haul in with brain deadening music of depraved minds the trash
Moulded into regimental rows of selfless meatballs
Defiled and self-mutilating masochists
Flushed down into the trash bin to be shredded
By the money machine with its killer appetite
Churning and churning night after night
In the shadows of its infinite emptiness
Blackened noise trying to keep death away.
There is no end to it.
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