House Of Rothschild Poem by Mason Maestro

You cattle can’t see me, only I you
I get sick just thinking about you
And when I look at all we've done
We celebrate the trillions we’ve got in the fund
We are the rulers of the hill, standing over their kill
The taste of blood is sweet
I'll lay this carcass at your feet
lf you'll only keep your jobs
And we keep you glued to your TV screens

This is it, the politics of our house
Centralize all power, it’s monetary
A sly dog still begs for his bone
We’ll throw one every now and again
All your expert economists are worthless men

I've seen more than I can stand
But in my banks and deeds I'm an economic man
I'll give you, I'll give you political office as tools
But I’ll own and play you as my rhythm and blues
I need to draw you close, to pull your hand
And in your shining face you see the promised land
Well maybe this place you’ll never reach the hive
But we promise to keep your dream alive
Only if it serves the House of Rothschild

Out on the edge between the living and the dead
I send you to ruin with a shake of my head
All your right questions must come to a stop
My priority to wipe you will be at the top
I’ll drag you down and bury you alive

You vote left, you vote right
To us that’s just fine
When you look to the alternative
That's when I put you in your place
Can you tell me, how will you survive?
You have to be the biggest fools alive
Your pitiful search for reality
Is hidden away for you never to see
We are in control with an invisible face
Barely a member of the human race