C.S.R. - Cloud Rat

Gun-metal to the lobe, you take everything

With little discretion, you get an erection

From stripping people of the hope they wish you could give them

Your well kept facade is tearing at the seams

Your stench can be smelled all throughout the building

Counting coins as you kick her in the teeth

Racketeer by any name;

Black market Ken Doll in the frontal position