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Well Im sick to the death,
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of the news on the screen,
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of the hisbullah scum,
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and jehad the obscene,
whose men plant the bombs,
and then live feeling free,
to watch women and children,
be killed on TV
What kind of publicicty
needs so much blood,
thats not for some
sad diabolical god,
Ive not read the book
so I cannot recite
but I'll bet Salman Rushdie
was just about right
And the butchers who've
got all this blood on their hands
are the ones who need
God to be stood where he stands
Blessing this kidnapping
murder and war,
with books written hundreds of ages before
And women in veils walk in paces behind
it doesnt sit easy in my kind of mind,
it speaks of oppression,
and no other choice,
than rigid reliance to the loudest voice
You can but a lead bullet
clean through this guitar
cause Im not over joyed
with the story so far
sharing this world with the nutters of god,
is as good as being six feet under the sod,
And I am the prophet so dont believe me,
Im the same as the old ones except that Im free
to give you a piece of my mind which is this
Your the worst of Jehova's blind witnesses
with your feet in the door of the deepest abyss
which is underneath the black cloud of islam