Leon Trotsky and The Deathly Hallows

So we went to a political party, place was slamming like a Mardi (Gras)

Head in to the crib with Leon Trotsky, big M Gandhi and the Dalai (Lama)

The whole Winter Palace done up so gnarly, hit the danceflo’ I don’t wanna be tardy

Scan for some sweet devotchkas to parley, see some sassy hos drinking Bacardi

Won’t be too long before we all swap car-keys, head upstairs and remove our khakis

Pour myself out a stiff little whisky before Frida Kahlo comes over and frisks me

The look in her eyes is seriously frisky, feels a little risky with her hand on my testes

Standing there right next to me, pleasuring me so respectfully

TURN IT UP, GET ON DOWN, GRAB A COMRADE, SPIN HER ROUND

[This is the revolution I’m talking about, left-wing party jump and shout]

RAISE A GLASS, SHAKE YO ASS, PARTY HARD FOR THE UNDERCLASS

So we chill at the political party, a pumping safe haven from all the Nazis

One-eyed fascists, paparazzi, and anyone who’s ever worked with Saatchi

The people who all wanna feather and tar me, not for pleasure, purely to harm me

The smiles of the smarmy, the facades so charming, it’s alarming how their army is so disarming

Nah instead we have a phat Barbie, vegekebabs on the fire that’s starting

Dzerzhinsky opens up a can of Carling, adjusts the sausages that he stole from Stalin

At this party I can’t stop smiling, sitting in the front room with the ladies reclining

The music’s quite loud but nobody’s minding, Trotsky jumps up with these lyrics reciting

TURN IT UP, GET ON DOWN, GRAB A COMRADE, SPIN HER ROUND

[This is the revolution I’m talking about, left-wing party jump and shout]

RAISE A GLASS, SHAKE YO ASS, PARTY HARD FOR THE UNDERCLASS

Is there something wrong with this picture I have painted?
The future is not bright, the future’s tainted
This topic…
It’s dystopic…
This topic…
Seriously dystopic…

[WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?]

We gotta pave the way to Mexico, across the borders and away we go

We can’t play wid yo, not anymo’, you’re chasing a comrade right out the door

We hide away in a cactus patch, ice picks in our heads to match

They’re burning up all of our stash, we gotta be the ones too cold to catch

We riding a bullshit rodeo, fatter than a snake from Borneo

A paedophile with polio, you treat me like I’m unfashionable

Shit’s gonna start getting technical, bitches start gettin’ hysterical

Jump on board, hell, here we go, dystopia live out yo stereo

[WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?]

So you hit me with a Dictaphone, try to slip me another bitch to bone

There’s a call coming through on the telephone, best tell the Pres' I ain’t coming home

They want me bringing home the bacon, motherfuck’ that I’m vegetarian

Shhhhhhh...you're scarin' 'em, shouting louder than a librarian

No fighting in the war room, hell breaks loose I bring a broad broom

When you hear that bass go boom I clean-sweep the creeps who delete and entomb

We got a whole nation lying fallow, and the hole in the wall is starting to narrow

Before we start drowning in the shallows bust Leon Trotsky those deathly hallows

When……and….how???

{2-SHAY}