| Now Jesus was a social drinker
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| He never drank alone
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| He never partied at a strip club
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| Keeping his woman up at home
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| Or overstayed his welcome
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| Or threw up in your sink
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| Nah, Jesus was never late to work, man
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| And he always pulled his weight
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| So tell you where it hurts
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| And I’ll tell you what to feel
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| Wash me in the water mama
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| And I’ll wash you in the water
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| Now, Jesus he was cool
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| He could take or leave the stuff
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| And if he got too loose
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| Well then he knew he’d had enough
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| Jesus wasn’t Irish
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| Just imagine if he was
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| He might have written poetry and verse
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| And enjoyed a pint of Guinness every day for lunch
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| So tell you where it hurts
|
| And I’ll tell you what to feel
|
| Wash me in the water mama
|
| And I’ll wash you in the water
|
| He never had a laptop
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| A spiral notebook or even a pen
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| But he wrote a best-selling novel, yes he did
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| Disappeared and was never heard from again
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| He was an all-around decent dude
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| But he had his share of rough nights
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| And the more I learn about him
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| Well, the more respect I have for the guy
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| So tell you where it hurts
|
| And I’ll tell you want to feel
|
| Wash me in the water mama
|
| And I’ll wash you in the water
|
| Tell you where it hurts
|
| And I’ll tell you what to feel
|
| Wash me in the water
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| Come on, wash me in the water |