Lyrics:
Wasted and wounded
And it ain't what the moon did
I got what I paid for now
See you tomorrow
Hey Frank can I borrow
A couple of bucks from you
Speedin' through, two seater coupe
We ain't part of illuminati, we just the realest crew
We dream too, that's how Madonna got smashed by Peter Shue
You
the rich while poor men starve
We work we eat together
We need no swords
We will not bow to the masters or pay rent to the lords
We are free men
who feeds the rich
While poor men starve
We work, we eat together
We need no swords
We will not bow to masters
Or pay rent to the lords
We are
to raise your pay,
We'll all be a-waitin' 'til Judgment Day.
We'll all be buried, gone to heaven,
St. Peter'll be the straw boss then.
Now you know
the island starts talkin' admiring the golden physique
Of the mysterious lady from St. Martinique
Hey' what is she doin' and who is she wooin'
That's what
the wife?
Got to run!
Oh my!
Ta-ta!
Olive oil!
Goodbye!
Ten years went quickly by for both these subste-antial men,
And then it happened that one
Make way for Prince Ali
Say hey! It's Prince Ali
Hey! Clear the way in the old Bazaar
Hey you!
Let us through!
It's a bright new star!
Oh Come!
Be
expect ye's all to back us to the hilt.
And if St. Peter at his gate were to ask ye why yer late,
Why you'd tell him that ye had to get a ship built.
We
a surrealist comb
Made of bits of mosaic from St. Peter's in Rome
But the weight was so great that she had to go home
I couldn't have liked it more
Hey! Baby, you've been on my mind tonight
I'm so low, I just had to sit down and write
I spent all yesterday tryin' to figure out what I'm gonna say
Bishop: The Epistle is written in the second chapter of the first letter of St Peter, beginning at the 13th verse.
Submit yourselves to every
Wasted and wounded
And it ain't what the moon did
I got what I paid for now
See you tomorrow
Hey Frank can I borrow
A couple of bucks from you
Irish
That isn't your fault
Raise up our voices like dogs in a pack
Thankful for honest man, we never lack
We got them by twenties, we got them by ones
that's strong
You load 16 tons, what do you get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
St. Peter, don't you call me 'cause I can't go
I owe my soul
There's Hollywood and the city by the bay
And the whole damn south down Louisiana way, way, way
That's the way, that's the way hey, hey in the USA
and bones;
A mind that's weak and a back that's strong.
You load sixteen tons an' what do you get?
Another day older and deeper in debt.
St Peter don't
baby
I know they say I'm cheap
And you're two-timing me that's what you get
We're in the 21st century
So much for chivalry
I know you'll come to me
I
named for razor blades
All American but Chinese made
Folks working hard for shrinking pay
21st Century, USA
Out on 90 we might see you pass
We got
the wife?
Got to run!
Oh my!
Ta-ta!
Olive oil!
Goodbye!
Ten years went quickly by for both these subste-antial men,
And then it happened that one day
I think I'm gonna have to move, people
I gotta move out of my neighborhood
Hey, I said I'm gonna have to move
I gotta get out of my neighborhood
Make way for Prince Ali
Say, hey, it's Prince Ali
Hey, clear the way in the old bazaar
Hey, you, let us through, it's a bright new star
Oh,
to raise your pay,
We'll all be a-waitin' 'til Judgment Day.
We'll all be buried, gone to heaven,
St. Peter'll be the straw boss then.
Now you know
On billboards and backs of cars
Truth without context, my favorite of all my crimes
What works verses what's right
Hey what's the difference tonight?
take out
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