Well here comes Johnny Talking bout using his wits While the rest try to find out Just who wrote all of his hits And you can't blame A man that securely sits In a hole that you made just for him
Why not take him, shake him til he throws fits Til he claws out his eyes and finally has to admit That nothing is sacred until it becomes print In his old man's morning news
Behind those pages rages words of a man Trying to explain to his son who just can't understand Why he'd rather sit down than make a stand In an old worn out dusty pew
An on this Moses wrote us of a plan Except he won't tell us why Just what and what we can't And how we'll never walk Through the gates of his promised land Til we shake off our bloody ancestors bluesTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
