What’s that around the ankles
and the wrists?
Ball-and-chain shackles.
What’s that around the ankles
and the wrists?
Ball-and-chain shackles.
The shackled-up slaves.
The massa is crave.
The shackled-up slaves
on the Pleasure Plantation.

Sugar-coated poison to digest.
Evil desires and dark enticements.
Lust is gripping tight behind the helm.
Cherry-popping is a requirement.
Escalations of debauchery;
from fornication to adultery.
Seduction of the unstable.
Countless advantages taken.
Manipulation just to get a taste.
Identity fraud; characters played.
Lovers being claimed as territory.
Weapons being drawn from insecurity.
Affairs take after covert missions.
Spouses stepping out of existence.
Eulogies spawning from triangles.
Triggers squeeze ‘cause extramarital.

What’s that around the ankles
and the wrists?
Ball-and-chain shackles.
What’s that around the ankles
and the wrists?
Ball-and-chain shackles.
The shackled-up slaves.
The massa is crave.
The shackled-up slaves
on the Pleasure Plantation.

Shackled and chained to arousal.
Powdered nostrils and mouthfuls.
Searching for the ultimate elixir.
Chasing after first highs of mixtures.
Limits being pushed by concoctions.
Downplayed chains to a substance.
Whimsical junkies
tryna turn the free to enslaved zombies.
And there’s a twisted fascination
with reversing emancipation.
Dropping stumbling blocks
and laying traps.
Gift-wrap disguising relapse.
And when their actions are questioned,
they throw insults and threats.
Aggression.
They call it an escape.
Irony;
they tighten their own chains.

What’s that around the ankles
and the wrists?
Ball-and-chain shackles.
What’s that around the ankles
and the wrists?
Ball-and-chain shackles.
The shackled-up slaves.
The massa is crave.
The shackled-up slaves
on the Pleasure Plantation.