Pockets

Empty your pockets it’s time to go
The stench is overwhelming
I can’t stop her from heaving
Yeah, I thought you’d know
He never
Pockets are empty up and down
Standing above the worthless
Beg for your bread
Yeah, I thought you’d know
He never
He is always stoned
If the smoke’s too think
Can’t we cut it out
If the air we breath is so full of insanity
How can you think we’re ok?
Why do you think we’re ok?
If prejudice is ignorance
And ignorance is bliss
Well how do the happy bigots
Think of anything else?