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By Poet Htebazile Rronk Set me free. I will bow to you, Then you will bow to me. There are no better lovers Than you, my dough, and me. So, kiss my wallet Mr. Lawyer. Kiss My wallet. Set Me free. Oh, I'm a sinner. There's no doubt. I left a mess. The cops found out. But, I'm no ordinary man, you see? I'm rich. The law does not pertain to me. I learned a long, long time ago That charm can sell the Devil's wares, And money buys an alibi. You see! I'm rich. The law does not pertain to me. My suit is foreign, cashmere, pressed. I look so good no one would guess There's blood upon these manicured hands. It's true! Ask my lawyer; He understands. The whole truth is a restless thing That pricks the conscience with its sting. It never lets its victim rest. Oh no, The truth is nothing but a peevish pest. My great renown precedes me too. Its brilliance blinds and skews the view. The public's drunk with my bogus fame. No truth Overcomes universal acclaim. The law is a cross poor men bear. They fear their maker. I don't care. My prestige is the god that I revere. Cold Blood And self-love are what I hold dear. My lawyer concurs. It's a fact! You see, we've made an evil pact. He knows the truth, so sad, so grim, And I Have arranged for him to win! Kiss my wallet, Mr. Lawyer. Set me free. I will bow to you, Then you will bow to me. There are no better lovers than you, My dough, and me. Kiss my wallet, Mr. Lawyer. Kiss my wallet. Set me free. |