Good Times

There's a man at ten Who couldn't make a three. He's got blood on his hands And blood on his sheets. He know's what's good For you and me. His hands are washed But never clean. Good times Never been so bad. Of rich men's things Poor men dream, But greed is a prison You never break free. There's a hole in my sky And shit in my sea, The earth is bleeding, Beneath my feet. Good times Never been so bad. You fire your arrows, You don't care where they land. Turn my world to dust and sand were´s the captain where´s his band of cut throat hugs we want them hanged truth and justice all wrapped up in rags the jokes on us we´ve all been had Good times never been so bad