You can find me in the Royal Palace and the Opium Den;
I'm either chatting up the queen of England with a sincere grin or
exhaling blue clouds with the kingliest men of sin. The royal carriage
discreetly delivers my drugs in a nicely wrapped package. I'm an honors student
with a healthy drug habit; I'm a simple addict with a high taste for success.
So I'm blessed like an abbot and the rest think its backwards,
but they're failing their tests.
My big brother is a drug dealer fresh out of jail; my little sister is at the top
of her class, she's the best of Yale. So I walk both lines too afraid to fail,
laughing at cops who assail us and try to curtail success. They want to lock me up
for the inhale and exhale. But the royal family loves my tales
so I always make bail.
Harvard educated lawyers always fight for my case. But it doesn't matter,
because I know the judge, he's a mate of a mate. As judgment day nears,
my court dates disappear, and when I walk in the court room, they ask,
“What are you doing here? Didn't you hear, your case was just cleared.
Let's retire to the back room and discuss it over some gin or some beer.”
When you know the right people, and they come from the right places,
there's no use for fear.
This is a thanks to my families: the royals and rebels.
I revel in everything you've given to me.
Your efforts will be rewarded, straight from the Queen.
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