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Money doesn’t talk, it screams
At the sight of bloodshed on the boulevard of broken dreams
Between the cracked skulls and blackened hulls
Shipping in China White and cocaine
As the needles of poison, acid rain
Act like acupuncture and open up the city’s veins
The streets spill out sludge and blood
And loss and love

And may the planes fly low tonight
And may their aim be just right
Because when they shoot me, Lord
I won’t put up a fight

Good, Catholic girls in 5 inch stilletto heels
Won’t say how much it hurts but will tell you how it feels
To be laced up and chained down
Dolled up and tossed around
So elegant, they never make a sound
That cold, tombstone silence stands profound
As we barter them off for a cheap high
Pound for pound

Safe to say I’ll hide in plain sight
And pray the judge takes pity on my plight
Because when they find me, Lord
I won’t put up a fight

The devil wears snakeskin boots and smokes menthols on 5th avenue
At the end of his barrel wait the brave and the few
Who tasted triumph and stayed true
You were in high school when he made his bones
Now he sits by the window and drinks alone
The tattooed woman is God, the bartender
Who is recovering from their latest bender
She has a boyish haircut but a womanly figure
With a rosary around her neck
And a finger on the trigger

I hope when I die, I’m high as a kite
And they execute me in broad daylight
Because when it comes down, Lord
I won’t put up a fight