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by Michael Glynn
in the house of iron
doors and concrete
floors
reside the whores in
scores.
you have no friend,
every one will bend,
pretend.
liquid loyalty ,
without end.
man, woman, and child,
defiled.
morality buck- wild
no code of ethics, no
rules to the game
it's all the same,
lame.
and at the same time,
how i made my name.
these dopehouse blues
are mine,
you can see it in my
eyes.
look past the pain and
past the time,
to the house of dope
and lies.
Come on in, the air is
fine.
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