Verse 1

He booked a little island, kept the guest list tight,

Then found the law was waiting at the gate that night.

A crooked little kingdom with a polished front,

But every shiny promise hid a guilty stunt.

Chorus

No more private hideaway, no velvet-rope excuse,

The judge has read the ledger and the locks are turning loose.

You can dress a bad deed up and call it high society,

But truth keeps time, and justice takes the melody.

Verse 2

The papers filled the courtroom, the witnesses stood tall,

The ones he tried to silence came and answered every call.

No wink, no silver handshake, no island getaway—

The reckoning came knocking, and it would not go away.

Chorus

No more private hideaway, no velvet-rope excuse,