| Well, I never really understood religions,
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| Except it seems a good reason to kill.
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| Everybody’s got their own conceptions,
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| And you know, they always will.
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| These days are needles under my skin.
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| Jesus shootin’heroin.
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| If there are priests at your party,
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| And you’re playing cards that are numbered,
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| And you got no reason to think it,
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| Until your chances are uncovered.
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| Tell me that I got to believe in,
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| Jesus shootin’heroin.
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| The police in New York city,
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| Chased a boy, right through the park.
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| In a case of mistaken identities,
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| They put a bullet through his heart.
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| I met Mary, on the corner with the streetlights.
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| She asked me if I’d come up to her room.
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| I told her that I didn’t have no money.
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| She said she had to leave pretty soon.
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| I decided that I would go in.
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| Jesus shootin’heroin. |