Life of The CipPher

Hey Moneyman the crowd is outside. The past, the future and the now is outside. The teachers and cooks and the drop-outs too. Word on the street is they looking for you…

Hey Moneyman they saying whats the score? And how much blood have you spilled on the butcher shop floor? Those numbers keep running but what they running into? The crowd is outside and they asking of you…

Hey Moneyman Moneyman the mayors’ on the phone. He says he wants to know if all those people went home. Those momma’s and poppa’s and students and cooks. Those teachers and preachers, one second I’ll look…

Hey Moneyman Moneyman the tents are still up, the songs are still singing and the coffee’s in cups. The nights due to fall and the sun’s going down but its still a whole mess of good folks hanging round…

They eyes are wide and their voices are loud. Its white and black and colorless proud. The signs are big and the smiles are bright. By heaven I reckon its gone be one hell of a night!

Hey Moneyman poor Moneyman you should slip out the back. Cuz the forces of greed are under attack. No bombs or bullets or rocks or guns. Just hashtag’s and voices at the tops of their lungs!

And Moneyman Moneyman I wont need a ride. But if you need me…

You can find me outside.