Black Mass from GDLS by Goliath LXIX

[Intro]
("Bow your heads, kneel to the throne)
(Say your prayers, break your bones)
(Write my name in blood and stone)
(Cuz the saints ain't coming home.")

[Verse 1]
I seen bishops with gold, but they hands ain't clean,
Dipped in holy water, but they pockets still green.
Preachin’ ‘bout love with a hand in the plate,
While the choirboys scream but the priest run late.

I seen men sell faith like it's stock on the rise,
While the poor stay broke but the preacher still thrives.
Told me God loves all, then they shut the church door,
Guess my sins too rich for that second-floor decor.

They pray for the killers, but never the prey,
Tell me who writes the script in this game that they play?
Said the Lord watch close, but I seen no hands,
Just a man-made system with a preacher’s demands.

Tell me, where was God when they stole our homes?
When they prayed for the poor but still cast them in stone?
Faith for the weak, while the strong get fed,
Guess my ticket to Heaven ain’t payin’ their bread.

[Pre-Chorus]
🎶 "Bless me father, I have sinned...
Fed my hunger, drank my gin.
Took no orders, feared no men,
Tell me, preacher, where you been?" 🎶

[Chorus]
Raise your hands, bow your head,
Gold on the cross, but the streets stay red.
No more kings, no more saints,
Write my sins in blood and paint.

[Verse 2]
They tell me "trust in faith", but they trust in banks,
They tell me "love thy neighbor", then they send out tanks.
They tell me "turn the cheek", but they stack their wealth,
While the poor sell dreams just to heal they self.

Ain’t no blessings in the offering tray,
Just a billion-dollar scheme in collection plates.
They praise false kings, they sell fake hope,
Got a halo for sale and a priest for the dope.

Ain’t no gates for the wicked, just debt and chains,
And a book full of rules that was made for slaves.
They burn my people, then ask for peace,
But salvation ain’t free, it got hidden fees.

They told me "pray for change," but the cost too steep,
Gotta sell your soul just to earn some sleep.
So tell me now, pastor, do I make the cut,
Or is Heaven reserved for the paid-up trust?

[Chorus]
Raise your hands, bow your head,
Gold on the cross, but the streets stay red.
No more kings, no more saints,
Write my sins in blood and paint
(write my sins in blood and paint)

• Hip-Hop/Rap
• alternative rap
• ambient trap
• dark ambient trap
• experimental hip-hop
• spoken Word
• London