Your God Owe Us Money

Your god owe us money 

With every lie 

The force of false testimony 

With a crooked smile 

The promise of milk and honey 

In a foreign land 

Blessed mornings 

Cursed nights 

Hopeful sunrise 

Stranded sets 

Your god owe us money 

With your private jets 

For every offering  

You staged a miracle 

Ripping the poor and suffering 

Worshiped like an oracle 

When mind starts wondering 

You introduce a parable 

Cold souls with blistered hearts 

Barren conscience 

Stereotyping the most high 

And religious cunning 

With all the offerings offered 

Your god owe us money

-The Vyrus