We're not the types who build you up
But we sanction the flutter in your fife
We know you'd like to trade your luck
In for wild and ingenious blight
We're your own feelings
And we got the Jekyll in your Hyde
While you pry them loose
You stumble around, you twist
Your lime in your party favor drink
With all of your Bally Table grip
God won't give you the diamonds
Until you've depleted their mines of their penny's worth
But the Lord will provide you with endless supplies of dirt
We'll help you out, we'll hoist the beams
And we'll spade up the treasure we can find
We know you've attempted to foil their schemes
But we can't save your bores from the tides
We're your own demons
And we got the Jekyll in your Hyde
While you plunge into the brine in the shaft you filled
You want me document your feat
For all the investors you've bilked
If the pirates on Oak Island had filed their
Retirement plans in the money pit
Will the lords have complied with their every demand
Will it fall from their lips like the Masons had planned
Will you bury the truth, will you dig with your hands?
If the Lord will provide you with endless supplies of dirt?
