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would Bob do?

I was knocking on the pearly gates, made of precious stone
Looked kind of other worldly, inside there was a throne
I was let in by
guitar bum whose name I never knew

Old School Nashville, Harlan Howard, Bob McDill
Tom T Hall go drink your fill and blow us all away

There was this
Because he's guided by
The invisible force
He drives a kooky green chrysler
Bad as anybody's porsche
He's a working class drummer
He's as strong
the backyard
Working on a feast of barbeque
Aha aha ? kids are playing in the pool
Aha aha ? Uncle Bob?s so drunk again

Verse One

Beautiful, grand wide open
to abort
The countdown starts

Watching in a trance the crew is certain
Nothing left to chance all is working
Trying to relax up in the capsule
"Send
I don't mind working, 'cause I used to be jerking off most of my time in bars,
I've been a cabbie and a stock clerk and a soda-fountain jock-jerk
control there is a problem
Go to rockets full not responding
"Hello Major Tom", are you receiving
"Turn the thrusters on we're standing by"
There's no reply
The people that you meet each day 

(a blue muppet, I believe, walks onstage) 
[Bob: Oh, hi there, little fella.] 
[Anything Muppet #1: Hello.] 
[Bob
We deal in too many externals, brother
Always afro's, handshakes and dashikis
Never can a man build a working structure for black capitalism
to abort

The countdown starts

Watching in a trance, the crew is certain
Nothing left to chance, all is working
Trying to relax, up in the capsule
Last week, uh, in Nashville, Bob Dylan, one of the top writers
Well, I don't need to tell you who Bob Dylan is
The greatest writer of our time was
my friend and my friend's name is Bob
Like the devil knows hell, I know Bob that well
Well enough to tell you 'bout his sixty-seven smells

Well enough
guided by the invisible force
He drives a kooky green Chrysler bad as anybody's Porsche
He's a working class drummer he's as strong as a horse

Me
on course
Because he's guided by
The invisible force
He drives a kooky green Chrysler
Bad as anybody's Porsche
He's a working class drummer
He's
guided by the invisible force
He drives a kooky green Chrysler bad as anybody's Porsche
He's a working class drummer he's as strong as a horse

Me
Brainwashed in our childhood 
Brainwashed by the school 
Brainwashed by our teachers 
And Brainwashed by all their rules 

Brainwashed by our
guided by the invisible force
He drives a kooky green Chrysler bad as anybody's Porsche
He's a working class drummer he's as strong as a horse

Me
Cheer up, it might never happen
Drive-by shootings on the streets of Clapham
Jackboots booting right across the map
And daddy's gone 'a looking
I'm old Tom Moore from the bummer's shore in that good old golden days
They call me a bummer and a gin shot too, but what cares I for praise ?
I
to abort, the countdown starts

Watching in a trance, the crew is certain
Nothing left to chance, all is working
Trying to relax up in the capsule, send
to abort

The countdown starts, watching in a trance
The crew is certain

Nothing left to chance, all is working
Trying to relax, up in the capsule
Bob Shane/Tom Drake/Miriam Stafford

Chorus:
Run Molly, run (oh, Molly). Run Molly, run. Long John's gonna beat you, beneath the shinin' sun.

Long
Living in circles like we're dreaming

Here's Capt'n Tom, he's with the CIA
He keeps us safe and sound from foreign enemy
He sells them guns and bombs
drop, people listen to it
To it, to it, to it

Vas-y suce mon flow, vas-y suce mon bob, vas-y suce mon équipe
Vas-y suce mon flow, vas-y suce mon bob
powerful, spit shit subliminal
Slang therapist, my whole style is criminal
Bugged like Bob Digital, fly visual
Mind body and soul, I'm a strong individual