The Truth Behind the Smokescreen
Staring at the stubborn facts
I stand face to face with a sneering fate
Legalized pot. Transitive
Bondage sold as liberty
Man made destructive phase
Don't lie to us as if we're back at puberty
I see you Bobojan, hiding behind a finger
Trying to hide the initial figures
Beckoning with subliminal fingers. Go figure
I tell people be careful, the aftertaste will linger
Electronic cigarettes; chunks of chocolate
The prince of darkness dresses fancy
And walks with a cane and talks classy
A fiend and no man
He calls himself the candy man
Telling us to live it up, like renegades
Bombs and grenades masquerading
As pop and energy drinks strutting and parading
On the runways of appetite for me to see
And I see you seeking my demise
Day and night while pretending to be nice
With frozen cold eyes and a plastic smile
Calling us the chosen, touting hell as paradise
And I get to witness the shifting paradigm
Batter voiced but with a heart of iridium
Pumping out destructive ideas
Pimping out the charm of sugar-induced delirium
You are as much a crime as Crimea
And I see your plan, runner of the sugar plant
Pocketing big bucks while stuffing us up
Filling our collective trunks with junk
Copyright © Kenny Gwena | Year Posted 2018
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