Sin Taxes

Cracked wooden shingles slide from the speakeasy roof
A generation of dimly lit bodies
I feel them in the walls of this place
They dance through faulty wired houselights

We sip these drinks, as they may be our last
What can be afforded, no man can know
We sing, "oh"
We sing, "oh"

Will these sin taxes take every cent I have left
I've scraped together enough for one last round
Brothers and sisters, we may run dry
But tonight we live like rich men



Credits
Writer(s): Tyler Hartman
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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