Opium Fields

In afghan fields where poppies grow;
Opium pods, row on row,
They know their place and in the sky,
Gunfire and fighter jets furiously fly,
Scarce to scare farmers below. #

The number one export around the world,
75 per cent of global supply.
And if you work for Taliban,
we’ll take the war to the backstreets of the London,
and ghetto’s of America.
Where the poverty poor are unaware they are;
Smoking the enemy gear.
Let the indulgent indulge on the plants we
grow from eastern worlds; make it so they
kill themselves before we kill them;
And we’ll spread death through the underground.

In afghan fields, where poppies grow
And an armed farmer surrounding
By buds of poison
Takes his blade to scrape resin off the closed
Shells of our well known memorial flower.