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 straight 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