| All good saints, know for yourself, live in love,
|
| And the bad ones are up to their ears in blood.
|
| But, however, the bad guys are wearing Armani jeans,
|
| And good saints only have a bump in their pocket.
|
| (A-ah-ah, hallelujah!
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| Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, fair!)
|
| And from good saints they write the faces of images,
|
| And the bad ones, yes, yes, yes, yes, they shoot from sawn-off shotguns.
|
| Nevertheless, the saints are all grieving, tears are shed,
|
| And the bad ones don't have fun, they drink whiskey.
|
| Chorus:
|
| Where is the justice, uh? |
| Where's the justice? |
| Where?
|
| Where is the justice, uh? |
| Where's the justice?
|
| And the bad ones smoke nicotine potion,
|
| And the good saints ee-ee say "we don't want to."
|
| But by the age of forty, the saints have a heart attack - and take it out,
|
| And no bad guys, oh, everyone is as healthy as moose.
|
| Chorus:
|
| Where is the justice, uh? |
| Where's the justice?
|
| We are not there!
|
| Where is the justice, uh? |
| Where's the justice?
|
| (Oh! Whoa-whoa-whoa!)
|
| losing
|
| Good saints have a pair of trousers for seven,
|
| And the bad ones are none on Porsches and Beamers.
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| Oh, why, good God, with a smile on your lips,
|
| Did you make me good and leave me on the beans?
|
| Chorus:
|
| Where is the justiceoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooolyly, ay?
|
| Where is the justice, uh? |
| Where's the justice?
|
| We are not there!
|
| Where is the justice, uh? |
| Where's the justice?
|
| We are not there!
|
| Where's the justice? |