| Mr. Johnny knows that book just like the back of his hand
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| Trust in the lord, man, he’ll take you to the promised land
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| As he shakes the bible in his hand
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| Mr. Johnny’s got his tent and he’s got his fans
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| Fancy cars in the driveway and the people say Look at this
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| They don’t know his ignorance is bliss
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| Screaming «love thy neighbor» as he laughs at midgets on TV
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| Thumbing the cross around his neck and trying sobriety
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| He looks so peculiar through his specs, 'cause he still can’t see
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| Is it clear to anyone but me? |
| Is he kidding anyone but me?
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| Mr. Johnny knows not much and he knows it well
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| Two types if people, those to heaven and those to hell
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| He takes a drag but he doesn’t inhale
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| Somewhere down that long tough and winding path
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| Mr Johnny’s golden rule turn the water green crimson black
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| His fundamentals are a thing of the past
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| Teaching the children all the virtues of equality
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| Boy tuck your shirt tail in, no room for minorities
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| He looks so peculiar through his specs cause he still can’t see
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| Is he kidding anyone but me? |
| Is it clear to anyone but me?
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| Mr. Johnny raises his brow as the sun goes down
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| Through this strange cacophony he hears the trumpet sound
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| And then he smiles as his feet leave the ground
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| Screaming «love thy neighbor» as he laughs at midgets on tv
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| Thumbing the cross around his neck, he’s trying sobriety
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| Looks so peculiar through his specs because he still can’t see
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| Is he kidding anyone but me? |
| Is it clear to anyone but me? |