ALIEN SAM

Let‟s talk about aliens - those space leprechauns.
Who crashed into earth near the first atom bomb;
when strange clouds brought a dark new dawn;
let‟s talk about those leprechauns.

Why Roswell, New Mexico? Why the United States?
Why didn‟t they land near another Land‟s bait?
Well, perhaps „cuz those Yanks were the going concern,
or maybe, we‟ve another dimension to learn…

…that the „fix‟ is so deep, long lived and obeyed -
that America‟s foundations were Alien laid…

Mostly just Masons were in on that deal:
A deceptive „free‟ land, to serve alien meals;
a phony free market, to enrich all the cads,
who pay the freeloaders, while gouging the sad.

The U.S. indeed, is a dark conspiracy:
infested from birth with big eyes that can‟t see;
injected with greed, and great riches galore;
with numbed, happy inmates, distracted but sore.

An American launch pad, for the alien plan:
corrupting the world with a sweet wonderland;
beguiling our souls with enchantment so real,
we worship their power, and forget what we feel.

A birch bark canoe, and how they sank it;
Wounded Knee, and smallpox blankets.
It was not the first time they took native land.
Again, we lost to an alien hand.
In the beginning, these parasites stole the whole place -
this beautiful earth, where they shackled our race;
this lush paradise, that banishes doubt.
It‟s hard to believe that they‟d wipe us all out.

This American heist was to start the endgame -
to ignite in the world an Apocalypse flame;
to build up a giant, who‟d conquer and rule;
with Uncle Sam, Alien, nuclear jewels.

So they fashioned an Empire, to corral all the cows;
to control all the engines, direct all the plows;
to carve up the globe with a hidden design -
a world wide larder, from which they could dine.

Set for the game with Rocky Mountains of cash -
they‟d be both the dealer, and gambling saps.
The till was chock „ful of unlimited funds -
to rapture the planet, and buy all the guns.

It‟s hard to believe Uncle Sam is a scam.
Caught up in the plot, he‟s an Alien Pan;
a Pied Piper hero, recruiting his dupes;
bewitching the nations, embroiling the troops.

American support for Israeli success,
is the linchpin for this Armageddon mess -
it‟s Israel‟s borders, and American gold,
that fuels the terrorists, so we are told…

Media, schmeedia, hemophelia -
needless blood encyclopedia.
First a crystal, now the box,
Media wizards, skipping rocks.

Pretend that Wolfe‟s a liar - in EVERYTHING he says;
& Anderson‟s an ACTOR, who‟s fuckin‟ with your head;
and Larry is a „fairy‟ - from Alien cabal,
that hide the scum and scary, in this dark monkey corral…
And another thinking shoveller, is that iron man John King.
His instrument‟s impressive, but I wonder what he sings.
Just assume that every picture, and every interview,
all serve the dark agenda - to keep you in your pew.

Yes, every simple story, and each disaster tale,
serve scum fed glory, for widows bound to wail.
They push our weathered buttons, and cast shadows on a screen;
they‟re deception seeding gluttons, pockets full of jelly beans.

The media should be „feedia‟ - warm worms for hungry chicks.
A global necrophelia, designed for dirty tricks.
They blow the dinner whistle, while we shake our heads in grief.
A Media guided missile, slyly fashions our belief.

Their reports are all stage play - a conflict of lies,
that pumps up the hatred, until we all die.
And at the head of the table, the top of the hill,
sits Alien Sam - all set for the kill.

But in truth, they‟re not ALL crooked - just enough to point the team.
They liked our Earth, and took it - skim milk masquerades as cream.
Tethered stallions, locked in harness, eagles on a doggie leash,
feed on Barbie dolls and carnage, at our homey, terror feast.

In fact, WE are the terrorists - we stole their fields and homes.
Manipulated guilt, legitimized the Hebrew tome.
It fulfilled the „Revelations‟, and has led us to their gate -
that welcomes us to enter, with „911‟ bait.

It all started with those chosen folks,
who wandered around, with Gods and goats.
Then came prophets, and holy books,
a few good plagues, and they (we?) were hooked.

Religion would hide an agenda buried,
beneath some milk & honey.
The path of a curious people married,
to politics (paradise?) and money.

By what strange God, or Alien beast,
were these „more than able‟ chosen?;
to lead us victims to the fire,
on a planet sometimes frozen.

A British letter, and World War II
would give the Doos their land.
A prophecy and witches brew,
we did not understand.

Old Bible claims, and Hitler‟s hate,
would justify the pact;
Now it would be Dionstine -
a Bionstine, hijacked.

The Doosraelites, and their promised land,
would prove to be the fuse,
between Buslims on their prayer mats,
and Chreistians in their pews.

Flying bombs of 9/11, and
a rush to fake a war,
push Buslims, Doos, and Chreistians,
to the Armageddon door.

Oh! 9/11 tale, thou wailing good hoax! -
that dripping museum of pictures and quotes,
has ramped up the levels of anger and fear,
beating the drums, as war clouds draw near.

Doos ARE the chosen people,
but who has made that choice? -
a God who‟s kind and loving,
or a God with a Rolls Royce?;
a God of good intentions,
or of Alien deceit?
If (their?) God created Doosrael,
it‟s their God we must defeat.

They‟re like nitro, grown unstable,
Semtex, with a faulty fuse.
Gahweh‟s treason is enabled -
he‟ll unload the Ark by twos.


Don‟t call me anti-Demite -
I have never hated Doos.
Though I grew up strictly Catholic,
I was open to their views.

I jus‟ calls „em as I see‟s „em,
and what I‟ seen ain‟t right.
These clouds of our destruction,
come from Dooish dynomite.

Either they‟ve been used,
or we‟ve been „cruised‟ -
for a very lengthy „roll‟,
but their God‟s a world wide menace;
/with/ and our planet, /his fishbowl/ they just stole.

“Kiddler” was a favorite Movie -
each note from every song.
I admired the trudging story
of a people treated wrong.

I also made two „best friends‟,
who both had Dooish roots,
and I sang for years in Diddish,
and warbled good Doobrew.

I was always an idealist -
on all issues I had heart.
Doos were just another victim
who deserved a good head start.

The stories of that Hitler,
and his hatred of their race.
Turned a victim into victor,
and gave Doos their holy place.

Their talents are amazing -
often easily the best;
their prominence astounding -
only 20 million heads.

Their holdings truly legion,
yet their numbers are quite scant -
Effective, gilded ravings,
heard their Dionism rant.

Their Uncle Sam-fed phantoms,
are in place to hold the reigns,
with Tin Pan Alley anthems,
deftly hiding why they came.

And their Hollywood Ditsch Kingdom -
slyly making our place theirs.
With their witchcraft, and their talents,
stacking shelves, in cupboards bare.

Quakery, bakery, American fakery.
Let them eat the poisoned cakery.
Ego dreams, could not get higher -
all folks fed, delusions dire.

The „American dream‟ is just an Ad -
a dog bone thrown, by scummy cads,
who‟ve spun their tales, of veneer truth,
which we „lap up‟, not asking proof.

The whole place reeks of simmering lies;
A potion pure, and putrified.
We‟re badly hooked, on illusion plays,
that shape our minds, and steal our days.

A Hollywood „dream‟ is really a sham -
             most „Stars‟ are forced to join the scam.
To „make it‟, you either get down on your knees,
or sign on the(ir?) line, for whatever you please.

In other lands, their film industries,
don‟t image obsess/obsess over image, with actors pretty.
But in Hollywood, every lead actor is hot,
and they pay ALL their dues, or a „Star‟, they are not.

You see, a Movie‟s a cat house,
behind the marquee.
They‟ve got all types of hustles -
and none of them free…

If it‟s not the blond bombshell,
that tickles your hairs,
there‟s always blood action,
and horror flick scares.

Romance on the screen -
just a prostitute bought!
Like porn and vibrators -
true love they have not.

So raise expectations,
and inflatable dolls.
This sex obsessed nation,
is caught in the thrall.

/of the/ That Hollywood viper,
/all/ is coiled for to spring,
A Sunset strip Scorpion,
that‟s eager to sting.

To tame (fool?) Uncle Sam, and all of his clan,
takes many magicians, and many skilled hands.
A Disney land city, can‟t be trusted with fate.
If we listen to Movies, we‟ll find it too late.

In this land of the Movies, where culture is King,
forget about talent, „cuz the „look‟ is the thing.
In this world of illusion, it‟s beauty that rules -
with gobs of bad makeup, and plenty of jewels.

A modern Narcissus, in a city of dreams,
and hordes of fake people, who are not what they seem.
They‟re pilgrims at the altar of a new holy place,
and mostly because, they have a Hollywood face.

A coy Cinderella - that every slipper fits,
with fake eyelashes, nails, a wig, and false tits.
A pretty Prince Charming, who‟s never alone -
the hair on his head is rarely his own.

Tinsel town worships the beautiful lover -
which prompts us to judge a good book by it‟s cover.
We‟re urged to forget, that beauty‟s skin deep -
a good looking person can be also a creep.

We‟re programmed to think that only good looks
can win an election, or capture a crook.
And virtue is captive, to what pleases the eye.
We‟re taught to ignore how the camera can lie.

The obsession with vanity is just an example -
such lies held as truth, are eagerly ample.
Their business is stories - not life as it is.
If you‟re looking for truth, don‟t depend on „the Biz‟.

And who made the dream factory? - this faux fairy tale?
The same /Eden/ wizards, who plotted our /eden to/ fail.
Just a handful of Doos, were enough for the job:
they control all our minds, and our hearts, they have robbed.
Oh Beautiful, for specious skies,
the blender makes good eggs,
for purple, poisoned travesty -
that royalizes dregs.

America, Aschmerica,
Why lead us to the brink?
And bury Roswell messages -
the spark to make us think…

Can we separate the Dooish blood
from „conspiracy‟ control?
Can the Doos be truly monkeys,
or have Aliens got their souls?

Why are Doos the one device,
that threatens our demise?
Can we ever all be sure of
what we see in Doosih eyes?

If Aliens are really here,
than anything‟s a „truth‟.
First they thieved our planet,
then blinded us in youth.

This box that we built for them
is a prison for our minds -
If we can‟t escape the fiction,
they will murder all mankind.

If this march to death keeps going -
deaf to words from Bibles new,
then this slave ship will keep rowing,
to the cadence of the Doos.

And Alien Sam keeps selling,
/those/ dime novels from the past -
sending soldiers to fight phantoms,
in a choreographed morass.

I‟ve always thought myself to be
a fairly normal guy -
not a saint, and not a martyr,
but /had/my morals, fairly high.

So this dark stuff about Doosrael,
has to me been quite a shock;
I used to think them just a tribe -
not seagulls on our dock.

I thought they were just as human,
as I know myself to be.
Then I learned about the Dooish role -
to end the Human Tree.

Can we banish their Alien sponsors,
yet retain the Doosraelites?;
can the bearers of our darkness,
suddenly, be of the light?;

can a tribe of Monkey treason,
for all time, give up their purge?;
that they somehow have signed on to,
by the /plotting/ playing of our dirge?

Puppets activated daily,
serve the dark agenda‟s plots.
Some are bloodline, some are traitors,
in most cases - they‟ve been bought.

But Doo veins may be different -
perhaps a purebred, alien, strain.
Maybe dormant for a season,
but all set, to plot again.
My role in this tricky debate,
 will never be a Judge.
I‟ll elucidate elusive facts,
but do not hold a grudge.

My only true agenda
is the safety of our Race,
and to wake the sleeping monkeys,
so they understand the stakes.

And what about drugs?
- those sly money printers,
that doom all they love,
to perpetual winters.

In THIS blood soaked tragedy,
does Sam have a hand? -
no dealer is bigger,
to souls of the damned.

Cocaine pays for „Kingdom Come‟ -
Smack & crack get cash for fun.
For those that rule this curious place -
a hateful club, a phantom race.

They don‟t really work -
they‟re just here for the ride.
They made drugs illegal,
and /the/ cash, they just hide.

A business created
to grab the most coin;
to wreak havoc, our culture,
and taint our fine loins.

Don‟t fall for their fiction,
the fear they dispense.
Their war against drugs
is a treasonous tent.

The wheels of this hearse
are the traitors of man -
well planted players,
in all the sad lands.

The spokes on the wheels,
keep rolling their game -
at minions of desks,
who traffic the blame.

Blind soldiers of fortune,
who punch a time clock;
allowing/letting blood flow,
from a 20 piece rock.

They can‟t see their error,
yet witness the pain.
So far we‟ve refused,
to address drugs again.

We‟ve got to get over
the system of lies,
that clouds our good vision,
of those who get high.

We don‟t like what they‟re doing;
we wish they would stop.
But you can‟t free a slave,
with /bad/ just judges and cops.

The addicts themselves must
set themselves free -
don‟t hound them and judge,
their unfair tragedy.

Sucked in by a monster,
that never lets go.
It‟s all they can do,
to feed a worst foe.

While caught in the clutches
of heaven‟s worst hell.
They can‟t cry enough,
to conquer it‟s spell.

When relieved of the shame,
and the blame of the street,
they‟ll find their way back,
to good food and clean sheets.

And then they can look
themselves right in the mirror -
maybe tackle their issues,
maybe conquer their fears.
When caught by the lure of a drug that‟s so strong,
it‟s hard to return to a wonder filled song.

When stuck in that circle, so vicious it kills;
it‟s almost impossible to assemble the will;
to banish the devil that‟s captured your soul;
a deliberate demon, in diabolical role.

Prohibition with booze, they couldn‟t make last.
But prohibiting drugs was a plot that took fast.
Scaring the parents, by selling to kids,
gave them the laws, with true motive hid.
A mountain of cash, was the instant result,
which greases the wheels, of the anti-drug cult.
Now, most of the world is still duped by their scheme -
still caught in the glare of a nazified beam.

When will we awaken, on plantations we own?,
and free the poor slaves, whose death we condone?
No longer a case of just „go with the flow‟,
it‟s time to invite all the junkies and Ho‟s ,
to sit at our campfire, and bask in our Sun,
      to welcome these innocents - second to none.

      In truth, they are victims - the worst on the globe,
      with no God to petition, like Moses or Job.
      The Gods have ensnared them - this god is a shill.
      God‟s government, really, is in for the kill.

      A conspiracy hides, and controls the whole earth -
      they rape and they ravage, stealing all that‟s of worth.
      If the laws can‟t provide it - they‟ll get it with guns.
      Far be it for monkeys, to spoil all their fun.

      This scam is old hat - they‟ve done it before,
      the opium trade was another big score.
      The British were then the agenda‟s big boss.
      They hooked millions on dope, in a generation lost.

      The British elite enacted the crime;
      extracting blood money, for Empire to dine


      more on british elite?

      Prohibition verses from „I believe‟


       also, some mortar verses - bush: clinton: bush, „tag team‟ wrestling -
just the same, i.e. fake, contrived…


Guess where the planes landed, when cocaine first arrived?
On a runway in Arkansas, where Bill Clinton thrived.
And who ran the C.I.A., at this tragic, sad time? -
it was Father George Bush, who helped usher the crime.

When we looked to George Junior to correct history‟s woes,
he counted bad money, and planted crosses in rows.
These scumbags we „elect‟ are just really a sham -
that grab the most cash, from the gullible, and the damned.

Junior, also, had a specialized role -
to fashion, and conjure, a ground zero hole;
to call in the Cavalry, for Custer‟s last stand.
Crocodile tears, to support 10 commands.

Oh! the 911 tale - that wailing good hoax!
That dripping museum of pictures and quotes,
has ramped up the levels of anger and fear -
beating the drum, as war clouds draw near.

And, while set on the brink of a war to end all,
the giant has seen his economy fall.
Though usually happy, he now sports a frown -
his playtime with numbers, may drag us all down.
In truth, it‟s all fiction -
this financial dive.
It‟s the kind of deception
on which these freaks thrive.

No dollars, no interest,
or price earning greed.
It‟s planned „pick your pocket‟ -
our fear is their feed.

They‟re beating us down
with each fear we possess -
and making us poor
is one of the best.

Take away that vacation,
that hot S.U.V.
Diminish our lives to
just watching TV

No more nights at the movies,
or steak medium rare.
Fried hotdogs and chips,
now regular fare.

No college for Bucky,
no travels for Gram,
We all have accounts
in the banks of the damned.

Wall Street, Mall Street, own the ball Street -
cut the rates, and watch it fall Street.
Mark to market, and tainted loans -
a million ways to pick our bones.

Do you think it coincidence,
this financial fix,
has occurred in the wake of
the 911 mix?

The Towers, the terrorists,
Iraq & the rest -
all parts of a plot, now
fleecing our nests.

The Fed is a playhouse, for
the cash Passion Play.
That eats at our wallets,
and limits our days;
that hurts those we love
and stresses our hearts.
This charade of bad numbers,
is a sly poisoned dart.

But Alien Sam, he‟s not sad at all.
He‟s giving us rope, while hogging the ball.
With our puppet economy, he‟s a master artiste -
who weaves in the bombs, while preparing our feast.

It‟s „make believe‟ soya beans,
coffee and rice.
A short story of oil,
and hot, melting ice.

All levers now pulled,
all gages engaged.
The Fix is now ready
to turn the next page.

It all comes together, in ticker tape time -
corrupt human treachery, and Alien crimes.
Society collapses & the economy tanks -
the bombs start to fly, as they close all the banks.

Wall Street, Mall Street, drop the ball Street.
Fill the shelves, and watch it stall Street.
Mortgage madness & blinded Banks -
a fine array of Alien pranks.

They‟ve set us up , to lose our shirts,
„mid mushroom clouds, and rocket bursts;
to plunge the dagger, deep as they can,
and stage manage, the end of Man…

Oil Schmoil, smelly toil,
the rotten stench of Denmark boils.
Igniting wars & stealing soil.
Drop the price to keep us loyal.
Oil schmoil, secret plan -
make, then break the hopes of man.
Place black gold under the sand.
Watch them die, by their own hands.

Wall Street, Mall Street, make them crawl Street.
Gild the Buck, and dress the doll Street.
Numb us in our house of cards -
we Capulets and Montagnards.

And who brought it all together?
Who planted the seeds?
Who set all the trip wires,
and cashed in the greed?

Why, it was Alien Sam - that Uncle of yore,
who once stood for greatness, while hiding the whores;
who once had an aura, a splendor of fate -
pity, we didn‟t see the expiry date.

Main Street, Vain Street, hide the pain Street -
charge the card, and feel the gain Street.
Give an inch - we‟ll take a mile:
Creator jokes, and Alien guile.

 Happy, snappy, Obama Guy,
Rides the plunge to reach the sky.
Then, with a warm and fuzzy face,
tells the world of an alien race.

After he‟s done that noble treason -
I wonder of he knows the reason -
when „warm & fuzzy‟ dupes alien doubts,
I‟ll be shocked if they don‟t just „take him out‟.

Golly gee - don‟t get me wrong.
This man Barak has righteous song.
But his good heart is being used,
to deceive a world badly confused.
You see, they‟re here, &
they own the joint.
If you think warm and fuzzy,
you‟re missing the point.

They‟ve been here from the start,
and alas, own the stage.
That hides players & traitors,
who keep up our cage.

Call it conspiracy - call it a hoax.
All the wild theories were never a joke.
Aliens run us like battery toys -
Their rich, royal rulers, vicious and coy.

The Fix is all seeing, the story gets killed.
The truth is a network tuned to the ill will
The stories they‟ve told us lead to the endgame:
To wipe out the monkeys, and bury the blame

Please - see through their fictions
of glamour and greed.
Prepare for the truth with
the things that you need.

The rough times ahead
are a challenge for life:
broke, frightened, and pillaged
will enter the fight.

For this planet of ours,
that until now, the thief;
has squandered our gold,
while tainting beliefs;
has blighted our history
with dark, putrid lies,
and for their last act,
bring apocalypse nigh.
They won‟t kill us themselves -
that would be too crass.
This cabal of dark scum
think they have class.

The plan is for us to
ignite our own doom.
Then bury us all in
an ice covered tomb.

So beware of „the fix‟ -
that Gahweh Doo plot;
to brainwash our minds while
they steal what we‟ve got;
to usurp all our beauty,
and vanquish our race;
to destroy OUR creation,
while wearing our face…

So, how did our Uncle get mixed up with Spooks? -
at the time when us monkeys first fiddled with nukes?
But no need to worry, even though he‟s corrupt,
there‟s still cause to believe in some other good stuff.