Conspiracy theorist concept.

[nickolas_warner]

Ok, the concept of this rhyme is to look inside a conspiracy theorists head. Specifically, David Icke who thinks lizards are running the whole world and they have been for a long time. He thinks the pope and president are lizards of some sort who control the world and are part of some lizard illuminati. Wtf? I know. I saw him on the History channel and I got the idea. It's not completely finished and I still haven't found a good beat to go with it, but can you guys tell me what you think so far?

this whole nations run by aged and old lizards
bold figures, masons draped in capes and cold silicone mold mixtures
cold blooded, completely covered in kohl and glitter
to hide their brown eyes littered with light gold slivers
just talking about them gives me cold shivers,
these cultic critters can unfold jitters
eating a diet of pulled livers insects and sole innards
they give birth to whole litters of
gold diggers, presidents, and political soul givers
Bush, Barack, all of his sisters, and shit full interns
Licking his eyelids I am trying to abide this sinister molt skinner
I do not uphold this droll, bitter, nazi gentile
I will not watch the world end while this illuminate reptile
condemns every human under his Julian ruling to exile
They already run the big three,
if we could stop the regimes scheme on gasoline
In a matter of weeks cars could run on steam
They are plotting to use the greenhouse gasses to their advantage
any inventor that brings forth foreword thinking schematics
like how to convert earths plastics, and worn gaskets
to worthwhile, fertile ashes, is erratically banished
the more carbon dioxide, waste, and methane from jet planes placed in the atlantic
that can cause a cataclysmic climatic disaster, to the masters, would be factastic
tyrannosaurus monastic, not catholic
though they pose as our own well known ecclesiastics
so savage, these rabid animals, its madness
we need to stop them now, crack their eggshells
out the basket, turn the gas, strike your matches
fry these bastards asses till the entire brackets stacked in iron caskets
grab your fighter gadgets, knives and lancets, grinder hatchets
and put your hands skyward towards the higher abraxas and ask to attack this
masked frier baptist with incisors sharp as barbed wire latches
get help from your dad, mom, or workmen, find the asking price
to sacrifice a virgin to Merlin, not just for bragging rights
but to summon Steve Erwin from earth out the afterlife
pump up your biceps, study and keep your minds kept
jazzercise, we need all our strength to overtake the plate skinned masterminds
march right up to their doors of the white house organized with pitchforks and daggers tight
grab the scaly president by his horns, with a sword to his neck, make him ask for life
pull off his plaster dis guise and stare deep into his jasper eyes, this is not your average guy