Cruzin' in your jets with your suits and the kiddies to white limos seein' all of the cities
Time to check in to Hotel Hell
You just bought something you cannot sell
It's a conspiracy of silence
It comes for you in the night
It prays on your innocence
Brings darkness over light
No one will believe you if you tell
Welcome to the gates of hell
Fear and loathing, child
In Sacramento, no...
Las Vegas ain't got nothing on the Bohemian Grove
Paul Bonacci got a gun to the dick
The shit they made him do, it really made him sick
Forever to ruin anything that he may lick
Thought a slit to the wrists would do the trick
Midsummer brings out the demons, to summon nightmares
Cast away your conscience in the Cremation of Care
In the dawn of the age terror did transpire
Men in robes burning children in the funeral pyre
Fear and loathing, child
In Sacramento, no...
They rape and murder kids at the Bohemian Grove