The Dull, the Proud, the Wicked

In this world, an honest man,
Never have I met;
They'll cheat you, and they'll rob you,
Put a price upon your head.

They'll lead you to strange lands,
Claim there's treasures for to find,
Then leave you stranded in some desert
With your life upon the line.

They say they'll stick right by you
Through thick and all through thin,
And leave you broke and naked
When the storm comes rolling in.

They'll tie your hands behind your back
And use you like a bank,
And, when the tide gets rough,
They'll leave you hanging off the plank.

The dull, the proud, the wicked,
Politicians preaching rhymes,
The good-for-nothing con-artists
That kill an honest mind,

They'll force you down to prayer,
Shut your eyes so you can't see
The mockery they're making
Of so-called divinity.

Every claim of virtue come from
Prides revengeful mouth:
The viper's vicious venom that bites
And takes you out.

These wretched wrecks of pale repose
That lull you down to sleep,
And leave you waking just to fine
There's none other there to meet.

The dull, the proud, the wicked,
Politicians preaching rhymes,
The good-for-nothing con-artists
That kill an honest mind,

They'll force you down to prayer,
Shut your eyes so you can't see
The mockery they're making
Of so-called divinity.

Each and every evil eye
That on me once alighted,
And every dead man's hand that's torn
The flesh from my life, and

All of you who've tried in vain
To make a pawn of me,
A painful future thee awaits
In scorchèd misery.

The dull, the proud, the wicked,
Politicians preaching rhymes,
The good-for-nothing con-artists
That kill an honest mind,

They'll force you down to prayer,
Shut your eyes so you can't see
The mockery they're making
Of so-called divinity.