| Emin | D | G | |
| Well Im sick | to the de | ath, |
| G | Emin | C | D | |
| of th | e news on | the scre | en, |
| Emin | D | G | |
| of the hisbul | lah sc | um, |
| G | Emin | C | D | |
| and | jehad t | he obsce | ne, |
| 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 |