We talk about the poor how they cry for more
But our luxury web don't give a shit about that
And those ages think about those generous kings
It's a laughing disease that makes them please

So open your eyes and see
These are the nineties
Open your mind and feel
This is the twentieth century

The chemical mist shall kill and twist
But our last patrol shall save it all
It's money that talks like a stoned whore
But she sticks you in the back if you want to snap