歌词
When I was young and they packed me off to school
And they taught me how not to play the game
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success
Or if they said that I was just a fool.
So I left there in the morning
With their God tucked underneath my arm
Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules
And I asked this God a question
And by way of firm reply
He said, "I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays"
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares)
Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers
I don't believe you
You have the whole damn thing all wrong
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
Well, you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
And have all the bishops harmonize these lines
How do you dare to tell me that I'm my Father's son?
When that was just an accident of birth
I'd rather look around me, compose a better song
'Cos that's the honest measure of my worth
In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me
As you lick the boots of death born out of fear
When I was young and they packed me off to school
And taught me how not to play the game
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success
Or if they said that I was just a fool
Well, you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
Have all the bishops harmonize these lines
In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me
As you lick the boots of death born out of fear
When I was young and they packed me off to school
And they taught me how not to play the game
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success
Or if they said that I was just a fool
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares)
Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers
Well, you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
Have all the bishops harmonize these lines
I don't believe you
You have the whole damn thing all wrong
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays
专辑信息