I represent the Masters of war
Billions served like a hamburger store
Been called bastards and whores
By Ozzy, Staple Singers and Dylan, I been chillin
But now I’m back and madder than before
You cannot ignore,
every year my empire grows more and more
Lord of war, nick cage, gunpowder coke
Never run out of dopes
Who believe that merchandising disasters galore
Makes us safer so pay us later and you can borrow the store
Kickbacks leave me Massive engorged
and the rest of the world averagely poor
Saturn with a spork, devour my children
Let me explain to you just who’s in the building
I’m not judas of old, I’m more ruthless and bold
I don’t care if a war can be won!
The longer it goes, the more I clock dough
Selling to both sides just for fun (wtf is it all RUN DMC all a sudden)
The more we’re spending the less we’re winning
Because the missions have no goals no more, and no definite ending
It’s just a symptom of how the pimps run the budgets
So who the real thugs is?
Taxes ain’t college for your daughter
Or Save the mortgage of your father
Instead it’s used to morbidly slaughter
word to B-1 Bob Dorner
Turn the wedding party into mourners
In some godforsaken corner of the earth, but
Miss the soldiers, oops
But that’s what happens When you outsource your foreign policy To an entity
like the private arms industry
You get unbordered wars
Against an undefined enemy
Pass the artillery we’re trying to literally murder a strategy
It’s futility. Like trying to guilt-trip me
All that hippie shit you can miss, Money
My God IS money,
So I don’t need Jesus’ forgiveness or pardon,
When I die my soul will circulate thru the Markets
Be reincarnated as a slush fund like Clinton Foundation
And buy ‘nuff guns for Saudis to pimp all the nations,
My theology is simple, Bob , ain’t it?
And as for blowback?
Bad for soldiers, but good for us, you know that.
Our stock goes up when we have to replace the shit
A cozy relationship
When the army loses we win,
don’t look at me disgraceful, bitch
It’s hypocrisy to look down on me
your whole economy is based on the dollars-we Bring in,
otherwise your Starbucks latte-be 20 bones,
and 3,000 for an iphone, so you just leave it alone, honey.
How do you think we get the fuckin’ oil money back?
Selling ‘em Korans and Kid Rock gunny-sacks?
*pfft* we’re Selling helicopters
To our pals so they can slaughter
Democratic protestors, while we cut checks to investors
And then when Radicals overthrow the regime
Have you notice it seems To be the case
they use our own guns against us tremendous?
While we bill their taxpayers for the remainder of the weapons
Now that’s entertainment! It’s not a failure!
That just increases our market share
Let’s see Raytheon top THAT this year!
Feel no guilt and no joy when I build to destroy
All you hippies can get drafted, killed and annoyed
The world ain’t a toy! To me It’s an arms bazaar
that rotates like turrrets on armored cars
Sonic cannons leave no evidence like harm and scars
Star Wars boondoggles aimed where no one but Martians are
F-35s that can’t hit the side of a target barn
How many you in the market for, Par?
And the deficit’s great,
Don’t worry about spending and waste,
we recycle all this stuff to your friendly local police
So they can use APCs and M-16s to get the kitten out the tree
For once and for all
We need more guns and more laws
And more fear and more wars, and more lies and more spies
And more explosions
If I’m going to get that quarterly bonus!
Because unlike our slovenly soldiers,
We dealers need to MEET targets, not hit ’em
Take a cong-riss-men to a meat MARKET in Vegas
And a minute later he’s in the senate
Declaring a terror group allies, so they qualify
For government lucre for guns
And you wonder why the government’s losin’ the funds,
no dough for taking care of Flint, but
Flame throwers for terrorists.
waitress, what?!? That’s my hustle.
Don’t judge me with your broke ass and I won’t judge you.
I might leave a tremendous tip. Just try to stay calm.
I picked out most of the bloody fleshy bits
Because I’m really considerate, ya messy peasant bitch.
Profit from hate and fear
Which brown country we gonna liberate this year?
Don’t let me catch you lames unaware,
I don’t need a billion dollars cost overrun to
throw you on the pavement smeared
Just pass me a Lojack and a bowling pin, like “I’m going in!”
Knock the teeth out your phoney grin
Spending all the money and we don’t even win
With the foreign policy of one Lee Ving
Winning is a bug not a feature, don’t look to your leaders
Thanks to ‘Political Engineering’ ,
Cynical sloganeering is what they’ll teach ya
And their cheerleaders , In the news and the media
Owned by their subsidiary partners
To make you cheer for the theft of your dollars
Sons and fathers
Lost to the cost of the economic format,
All we export is wars, Beyonce, and constant combat
We can’t stop that
Those are the only jobs we got left
All we make anymore is
Claymores and grenades for Arabian wars
I can’t take it no more
And they don’t even care if we lose
It’s not even a war it’s just an excuse
To dispose of materiel, a trash conveyor-belt
Littered with limbs of those who strayed too close
Now that’s planned obsolescence
In the sense-it’s obscene and damned unpleasant
A perpetual motion machine, greased by human humors
Blood, lymph, and don’t forget the bile
Shit is vile, and it’s growing like tumors
From lone wolf shooters to drones and computers
To ‘dial-a-yield’ nukes, that make you glow when you’re ruined
No joke yall, it won’t stop till we smoke all our grotty consumers
Masters of warrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!
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