There's a blackland farmer
He's got a jar full of money in his hands
He's been through Hell and it ain't frozen over
Please send rain for this weary land
His will is broken, another prayer unspoken
Better run and sell all that you can
If money is the root of all evil son,
Why is he the poor man?
Pray hard and tithe harder
I'm dark but you, you want darker
Broke down and torn in between
All you sons of mayhem outta know what I mean
You are dressed up and messed up to me
The road to bureaucratic spending
IS one paved through the heart of foul play
A competition that's never ending
A referee that's full of piss and games
Baker gives the finger
Wise man is the preacher
The wealthy sit and suck on their thumbs
If the good life is on your back burner baby
Why bring along anyone?
Pray hard and tithe harder
I'm dark but you, you want darker
Broke down and torn in between
All you sons of mayhem outta know what I mean
You are dressed up and messed up to me
Pray hard and tithe harder
I'm dark but you, you want darker
Broke down and torn in between
All you sons of mayhem outta know what I mean
You are dressed up and messed up to me
Dressed up and messed
Dressed up and messed up to me

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS