_ on your back or on your feet
you sell your time for money. it doesn’t matter what you do if it’s not for love you’re a prostitute. so don’t look down on the girls you see out on the town with a trick or three; they’re no worse than the office joe who’d kiss his boss’s ass for a little more dough. we’re all fucked for money, listen to me sisters. we all take it fast and hard until it blisters. Society has made a religion of mass consumerism. So long as the rituals of Production and Consumption are sustained their actual content is irrelevant if the love of money is the root of all evil, then from this root what tree has grown? | _now mr. man with his dick in his hand
is into the banks for a hundred grand. as he’s screwing you his tiny brain is thinking, “is it all going down the drain?” you spend your life buying things you’ve seen on tv but you don’t really want ’cause when you’re dead there’s no paycheque that can buy a spot in heaven or hold back the worms. we’re all fucked for money, let me tell you brother. we all take it in the end, one way or another. |
