The Black Rite (II)

[SAM-i-EL]

When it was minime times three, when thrice was the Most High.

The tyedye for lunch with the morning brew, and Captain Crunch.

And heat we tuck, to cluck, and the Daffy Duck.

Or the Donald Trump, the trump card from a'far.

And SARs was the hour, the power hour, to bloom like a flower.

With the sour head, the led, to accumulate gold.

And the funds, the rap the tip of the tongue, and the jury that hung.

So incomplete, to complete, and the role play.

With shades of gray, and the Cuba Gooding Jr., the turtles and the sewer.

So it's NY, the Roc Nation, the buhbye, where there is no such thing as "true" lies.

Now it's to size you up, when all falls down, I know the Beast would be proud.