Sub Urban - CANDYMAN

Lyrics

I make more
Mama told you to hate the rich man
When you're poor
I make more
'Cause one day finally I realized
There's no encore
I don't know if anybody is whole
That moment's gone
There's no paradise just whimsical woes
And charlatans

Chase that bag then (Dig your hole)
Realize there's no miracles just
Luck and sex and made up goals
I make more but (I'm a poor soul)

You don't know what you know or what you don't
Guess that's the charm
Curiosity makes all the more dough
Just throw the dart (Oh)

Chase that bag then (dig your hole)
Realize there's no miracles just
Luck and sex and made up goals
I make more but (I'm a poor soul)

Chase that bag then (Dig your hole)
Realize there's no miracles just
Luck and sex and made up goals
I make more but (I'm a poor soul)
It is with the greatest pleasure
That the King and Queen announce the betrothal of their dearly beloved son—
[?]