Rich Folks Hoax

The moon is hanging
 In the purple sky
 The baby's sleeping
 While its mother sighs
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 Talking about the rich folks
 Rich folks have the same jokes
 And they park in basic places
 The priest is preaching
 From a shallow grave
 He counts his money
 Then he paints you saved
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 Talking to the young folks
 Young folks share the same jokes
 But they'd meet in older places
 So don't tell me about your success
 Nor your recipes for my happiness
 
 Smoke in bed, I never could digest
 Those illusions you claim to have going
 The sun is shining
 As it's always done
 Coffin dust is the fate of every one
 ♪
 Talking about the rich folks
 The poor create the rich hoax
 And only late breast-fed fools believe it
 So don't tell me about your success
 Nor your recipes for my happiness
 
 Smoke in bed, I never could digest
 Those illusions you claim to have going