Winston Churchill's Masonic Minutemen (feat. Genocide)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, December 10, 2012 Under: Rhymed Verses


Genocide
I'm the man, the myth, his legendary pen beside the candlestick
the point of view, misconstrued, and the truth inside the manuscript
A man with wisdom, peeking greater than all of Britains steeples
Peaceful, Once I wrote a book about an english speaking people
Deep cerebral, dark, in depth, the secrets lying on your chest
Lies you've kept, I was in the nightmares adolf hitler often dreamt
Lost in bed, off with his head, where he shared his mothers warmth
I was something pure, before the world would host another war
My name was underscored, next to the rules I penned with ink
I made aquaintences with Roosevelt and John F. Kennedy

Vulgar
M. Carbine on the dresser, his walking stick a buttered-mantle hickory
Aboard the Sputnik tram he seeked to lead the motherland to victory
As blitzkriegs from the east roasted these punctured lambs of history
Poor Stalin, he’d had enough in his plate, and more problems
War college author and scholar with foreknowledge from Lord Monckton
Winston was a porch golem, stony faced; appearance of a simpleton slug
Pilgrim with smug expressions, pilferage of the Chechens
building an upper section of London, schillings from some election
Desert airfields, winter marshlands, rivers of blood in seconds…
A single question was left: was this a political thug, or legend?

Genocide
Pinnacle punk intentions or innocent love for peasants with humble motives
Never know I guess, history was nice to him cause he's the one who wrote it
Never qouted until his prophecies more than all appeared correct
people wouldnt pay attention, welcome to blood, toil, tears & sweat
Became the Jewish advocate, after being misunderstood as bluffing
Had some enemies as well, but that's because he stood for something
Ditches dug and bodies dumped, was weird how he'd percieve rumors
Predicted India would fall apart to rascals, rogues and freebooters
And once the trees rooted, good or bad the seeds expand
"Watch lies go half around the world fore the truth put on its pants"

Vulgar
Orator steps forth, Duke of the Sudan with tubas in two hands
Playing music for the masses, the room’s illumined by huge lamps
He receives newcomers with an envious grace, a sentient face
Telegram enters the place, Enemy base: British Intelligence - RAPED!
He said we’ll fight them on the beaches with raw metal til the smog settles
And God trembles from the frosty ashes of those Holocaust rebels
Wallops marched towards temples, heads tilted, muzzled in close breadth
Because the greatest wars were always the ones with the most dead
The pearly harbor gates opened, in remembrance of this everlasting breeze
U-boats up his arse but had tricks up his sleeve that’d put Leningrad at ease
He’d never have to leave - unless swept off into the Cambridge abyss
Or if the elections came calling… for a royal family switch

Genocide
While innocent by-standers get hit, poparatzi cameras like cancerous cells
Media hell, And churchills face always explains all the answers itself
Ring the Chancellors bells, with a phone call or a knock at the door
If your so sure you'll be stopping the war, then what you locking it for
Old fashioned doctor kavorkian, swastika ornaments, opera accordians
Where talk is only talk, and its never heard by the popular audiance
German helicopter choppers chopping the oxygen, air waves are a mess
Kamakaze bombers, panzer drivers, front line survivors are praying to death
Holocaust chambers taking your breath, blame alien aircrafts for crashing
While they reverse engineer one, the less fortunates beg for rations

Vulgar
He’d have lucid dreams of English troops in need, hibachis gallopin’
Hibakusha paladins in banquet tuxedos surrounded by Saharan talismans
He was a silver tortoise, slanderous, commandant of fifty Florence analysts
But the gefilte corpses spanned the mist - thanks to a vicious Polish vampiress
Bygones were capturers, trench warfare became more than a tad berserk
More squadrons massacred than an army of barbecued warthogs on placid turf
The Gestapo had collapsed the earth via the Third Reich secret plots
Journeys to Atlantis uncovered the true Ground Zero, without a thermite piece of rock
He held a scabbard that glistened like it belonged to Saladin’s mistress
The Battle of Britain, such a splendid view from the caverns of Lisbon

In : Rhymed Verses 



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