| Every time I’m full of hate
|
| I would kill if only I
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| Had a blunt instrument and the perfect alibi
|
| Every sin I don’t admit
|
| And every crime I dearly like to commit and get away with
|
| Makes me realize that maybe
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| Jesus won’t want me for a sunbeam
|
| Won’t want me for his dream team
|
| He might not want me at all
|
| Every scrap of fierce ambition
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| That I nurse like a newborn
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| Each chance for self-advancement
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| That I grab the backs
|
| I swap and stab all the lies
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| I’ve told to every sucker
|
| Sold down the river for a profit
|
| Makes me wonder, hmm, what if
|
| Jesus won’t want me for a sunbeam
|
| Won’t want me for his dream team
|
| He might not want me at all
|
| And every bomb I ever dropped
|
| The shiny new kalashnikovs
|
| Somehow wind up in the jungle
|
| Every snaky little angle that I milk
|
| The treaty is broken, the species killed
|
| Every time I pass the buck when I couldn’t give up flying
|
| Jesus won’t want me for a sunbeam
|
| Won’t want me for his dream team
|
| He might not want me at all
|
| Jesus won’t want me for a sunbeam
|
| Won’t want me for his dream team
|
| He might not want me at all |