Your world is in flames there ain't even a name For the feelings you feel as you watch it all burn. There's a girl in the distance, she's calling your name, But the name that she's calling is not your name, she calls:
The word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule! But he's plowing the field The word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule! But he's plowing the field
And you can't walk on that water, I know 'cause I tried. It's our spider web-thinking, it's just too heavy with holes. And our thoughts they are made up of red georgia clay, We think we know everything, but man we don't know:
The word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule! But he's plowing the field The word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule! But he's plowing the field here come the word-mule!
My friends, Look out for hustlers for preachers for shysters, Them silver-tongued saints who pretend to do good, 'Cause they're geeks biting chicken-heads off with their witty rejoinders they ain't nothing but greasy fast food for:
The word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule! But he's plowing the field The word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule! But he's plowing the fieldTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
