Sunday Song

Religious Freedom (To Burn Our Own Witches)

 


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Sunday Song: Strawman

 

Thanks to Bruce

We who have so much to you who have so little
To you who don’t have anything at all
We who have so much more than any one man does need
And you who don’t have anything at all, ah

Does anybody need another million dollar movie?
Does anybody need another million dollar star?
Does anybody need to be told over and over
Spitting in the wind comes back at you twice as hard?

Strawman, going straight to the devil
Strawman, going straight to hell
Strawman, going straight to the devil

Strawman
Strawman
Strawman
Strawman, yes

Does anyone really need a billion dollar rocket?
Does anyone need a $60,000 car?
Does anyone need another president?
Or the sins of Swaggart parts 6, 7, 8 and 9? Ah

Does anyone need yet another politician
Caught with his pants down and money sticking in his hole?
Does anyone need another racist preacher?
Spittin’ in the wind can only do you harm, ooohhh

Strawman, going straight to the devil
Strawman, going straight to hell
Strawman, going straight to the devil

Strawman
Strawman
Strawman
Strawman, yes

Does anyone need another faulty shuttle
Blasting off to the moon, Venus or Mars?
Does anybody need another self-righteous rock singer
Whose nose he says has led him straight to God?

Does anyone need yet another blank skyscraper?
If you’re like me I’m sure a minor miracle will do
A flaming sword or maybe a gold ark floating up the Hudson
When you spit in the wind it comes right back at you

Strawman, going straight to the devil
Strawman, going straight to hell
Strawman, going straight to the devil

Strawman
Strawman
Strawman
Strawman

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Sunday Song: Here’s to the State of Mississippi…

 

Thanks to Bruce

Here’s to the state of Mississippi,
For Underheath her borders, the devil draws no lines,
If you drag her muddy river, nameless bodies you will find.
Whoa the fat trees of the forest have hid a thousand crimes,
The calender is lyin’ when it reads the present time.
Whoa here’s to the land you’ve torn out the heart of,
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of!

Here’s to the people of Mississippi
Who say the folks up north, they just don’t understand
And they tremble in their shadows at the thunder of the Klan
The sweating of their souls can’t wash the blood from off their hands
They smile and shrug their shoulders at the murder of a man
Oh, here’s to the land you’ve torn out the heart of
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of

Here’s to the schools of Mississippi
Where they’re teaching all the children that they don’t have to care
All of rudiments of hatred are present everywhere
And every single classroom is a factory of despair
There’s nobody learning such a foreign word as fair
Oh, here’s to the land you’ve torn out the heart of
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of

Here’s to the cops of Mississippi
They’re chewing their tobacco as they lock the prison door
Their bellies bounce inside them as they knock you to the floor
No they don’t like taking prisoners in their private little war
Behind their broken badges there are murderers and more
Oh, here’s to the land you’ve torn out the heart of
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of

And, here’s to the judges of Mississippi
Who wear the robe of honor as they crawl into the court
They’re guarding all the bastions with their phony legal fort
Oh, justice is a stranger when the prisoners report
When the black man stands accused the trial is always short
Oh, here’s to the land you’ve torn out the heart of
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of

And here’s to the government of Mississippi
In the swamp of their bureaucracy they’re always bogging down
And criminals are posing as the mayors of the towns
They’re hoping that no one sees the sights and hears the sounds
And the speeches of the governor are the ravings of a clown
Oh, here’s to the land you’ve torn out the heart of
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of

And here’s to the laws of Mississippi
Congressmen will gather in a circus of delay
While the Constitution is drowning in an ocean of decay
Unwed mothers should be sterilized, I’ve even heard them say
Yes, corruption can be classic in the Mississippi way
Oh, here’s to the land you’ve torn out the heart of
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of

And here’s to the churches of Mississippi
Where the cross, once made of silver, now is caked with rust
And the Sunday morning sermons pander to their lust
The fallen face of Jesus is choking in the dust
Heaven only knows in which God they can trust
Oh, here’s to the land you’ve torn out the heart of
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of
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Sunday Song: The Vicar and the Frog

 

Thanks to Bruce

There once was a very very holy vicar
‘ Was walking alone the street one day,
When he heard a little voice sayin’: “Excuse me vicar,
O help me vicar”, the voice did say.
The vicar look’d about, but all he could see
Was a tiny little frog sitting on the ground.
“O my little froggie did you speak to me?
Was it you who spoke when I heard that sound?”
“Oh yes!” said the frog “Oh help me vicar,
‘Cause I am not a frog, you see!
I’m a choir boy, really, but a very wicked fairy
Put a nasty spell on me!
The only way, that I can be saved,
From this wicked spell” the little frog said,
“Is for someone to take me,
And put me in the place, where a very holy man
Has laid his head!”
So the vicar took him home,
Put him on ‘is pillow,
And there he lay till the break of day.
The very next morning: a blessed miracle!
The spell was lifted, I’m glad to say!
For there was a choir boy in bed with the vicar,
And I hope you think this all make sense,
‘Cause there, my lord, and members of the jury,
Rests the case of the Vicar.
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Sunday Song: Jesus’ Brother Bob

 

Thanks to Bruce

If you haven’t heard of me I wouldn’t be surprised
I bet you know my relatives their names will never die
My mother is a saint and my brother is a God
But all I am is Jesus’ brother Bob

CHORUS

Jesus’ brother Bob, Jesus’ brother Bob
A nobody relative of the son of God
If only I’d been born just a little sooner
I’d be more than the brother of God junior

I have to pay the ferry to cross the Galilee
But not my brother, no not him, he walks across for free
I finally get to work ’bout a quarter after nine
Already he’s turning water into wine

CHORUS

One day when I was home I heard a mighty roar
There were a thousand people right outside the door
“Help us Jesus, help us” came the cheering from the mob
Then they got a look at me, “Oh nuts, it’s only Bob.”

CHORUS

He died upon the cross, I thought that I was free
Finally people would get to know me for me
This was my big chance to finally get ahead
The next thing you know he’s rising from the dead

CHORUS
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Sunday Song: Send Me Your Money…

 

Thanks to Bruce

Lights, camera, silence on the set
Tape rolling, 3-2-1 action
Welcome to the Church of Suicidal
We’ll have a sermon and a wonderful recital
But before we go on there’s something I must mention
An important message I must bring to your attention
I was in meditation and prayer last night
I was awakened by a shining bright light
Overhead a glorious spirit, he gave me a message and you all need to hear it
“Send me your money,” that’s what he said
He said to “Send me your money”
Now if you can only send a dollar or two
There ain’t a hell of a lot I can promise to you
But if you wants to see heaven’s door
Make out a check for five hundreds or more
“Send me your money”, do you hear what I said?
“Send me your money”

Now give me some bass, um yea that’s how he like it
Now let’s have some silence, for all you sinners
Now give me more bass, yea that was funky
Now take them on home Brother Clark, send me your money
Here comes another con hiding behind a collar
His only God is the almighty dollar
He ain’t no prophet, he ain’t no healer
He’s just a two bit goddamn money stealer
Send me your money
Send it, you got to send it
Send me your money
You hear what I’m saying?
You got to send it, send it
Send me your money

Now how much you give is your own choice
But to me it is the difference between a Porsche and a Rolls Royce
I want you to make it hurt when you dig into your pocket
Cause it makes me feel so good to watch my profits rocket

Send me your money
Now dig in deep, dig real deep into your pocket
I want you to make it hurt!
We’ll take cash, we’ll take checks
We’ll take credit cards, we’ll take jewelry
We’ll take your momma’s dentures if they got gold in them
So whose gonna be the new king of the fakers
Whose gonna take the place of Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker?
See my momma, she didn’t raise no fool
Cause you can’t put a price on a miracle
Amen
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