Quaker City Night Hawks - The Last Great Audit

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 blues