Big Bad Gospel John

Big John
Big John

Every morning at the church you could see him arrive,
He stood 6 foot 6, weighed 245.
Kind of broad at the shoulders, narrow at the hip.
And everybody knew you better give a big tip,
to Big John.

Big John
Big John
Gospel John
Big John

Nobody seemed to know where John called home
He just drifted into town and stayed all alone.
He didn't preach much, finished up before ten
And if you spoke in his church, you just said Amen,
to Big John.

Somebody said he came from New Orleans,
where they found him in bed with a flaming Queen,
the church's cash and some blow in his huge right hand,
and some underage kids in the back of his van.

Big John
Bad John
Gospel John
Big John

Then came the day at the printing shop,
the preachers ran out of their usual slop
Reverends were praying, writer's block held fast
and everybody thought they had wrote their last,
cept' John.

Through the gloom and despair of this man made hell,
walked a giant of a man to the mission's ink well.
Grabbed a fountain pen, put the book in his lap,
like a bout of diarrhea started making up crap,
Big John

Big John
Bad John
Gospel John
Big John

He wrote about Jesus, he wrote about sin,
miracles and sermons, he put 'em all in
And 20 men scrambled to print out the words,
that came in a rush like a horse spews out turds,
from Big John.

He spun them out of whole cloth, no regard for the truth
faster and furiouser there in his booth
till he burst a blood vessel and fell on his face
and everybody knew it was the end of the race,
for Big John.

Big John
Bad John
Gospel John
Big John

Now they never rewrote that worthless shit,
just placed a fancy cover on top of it.
a cover these words should be written on,
'In the middle of this book, wrote one Hell of a con,
Big John.

Big John
Bad John
Gospel John
Big John.