Hot sun rises to catch the fall of the taxman
Laid to rest in his pool of blood by the gunman.
Wrong the people you act as if justice is dead
Drill their pockets like you need a hole in your head
.
From the crime scene up to the cemetery plot
Tongues wagging about your ill-gotten booty pot
Too late to paint you a saint for it's far from true
Ask for the heavens it came crashing down on you
