| Southern crack at the southern green
|
| Everybody selling that southern thing
|
| But we can’t go, no
|
| Peddles in the pine with the hollow teeth
|
| Screaming hallelujah from the factories
|
| But we can’t know
|
| Caught four devils in the maker phones
|
| Telling all the saints that they were wrong
|
| But they can’t know
|
| Choking on the smoke inside their lungs
|
| Screaming for the mercy of the burning ones
|
| But I know it’s too late
|
| Preacher of elastic
|
| How we can let it go and go and go?
|
| Love is for the mercy
|
| And now we can lose control, control, control
|
| What do we ever do?
|
| I know that you got it bad
|
| What do we ever say?
|
| I know that you got it bad
|
| Gun shaped bottle in a loaded tongue
|
| Jesus ain’t the problem but he started one
|
| He don’t understand
|
| Black veil preacher at the city mall
|
| Hiding in the bushes 'cause he likes the muse
|
| I don’t understand it
|
| Death on the breath of a wounded dove
|
| Shipped two-ninety, took all my blood
|
| And suck on my blood
|
| Southern crack at the southern green
|
| Everybody selling that southern thing
|
| But I can’t go again, oh no
|
| Preacher of elastic
|
| How we can let it go and go and go?
|
| Love is for the mercy
|
| And now we can lose control, control, control
|
| What do we ever do?
|
| I know that you got it bad
|
| What do we ever say?
|
| I know that you got it bad
|
| What do we ever do?
|
| I know that you got it bad
|
| What do we ever say?
|
| I know that you got it bad
|
| There’s a little light
|
| There’s a little hope
|
| It seems to fade away
|
| There’s a little light
|
| There’s a little hope
|
| It seems to get away
|
| We are just bruised fruit falling from the tree
|
| God is a gambler who can’t set us free
|
| Where are we going? |
| We’re lost
|
| I can’t tell you the cost
|
| For the continental fruit toast |