Seems that God's little mother Is bringing his son up so right She's wearing the heart of America Where daddy is just 'out of sight' She's got Al Capone's ghost in his diaper And Sitting Bull made out of wax And hard plastic dolls that cry 'mama' Whose eyes close when laid on their backs And the gas in the lungs of Carl Chessman Is made up of Femme-Fresh and gin You see, 'cos unlike crazy mum's Billy Graham She forced the poor guy to breathe in We've been watching too many movies Laid right back, cut 'n' dried With h**nes in happy hereafters Where d**h is for failed suicide Where d**h is for failed suicide The virgin Mary's good gangster Is thinking of mum as he dies She wiped out his mind as a youngster His soul sweeps the jail of her lies And gone with the wind and the cool hand Are Luke and the truth about dad While showbiz princesses lie sun-tanned Still thinking John Henry is bad The father, the son and the holy disgrace Bathe in the blood of the race No way, no way to treat a lady Is nearer than twice Peyton Place Is nearer than twice Peyton Place We've been watching too many movies Laid right back, cut 'n' dried With h**nes in happy hereafters Where d**h is for failed suicide Where d**h is for failed suicide And whatever Mother says is justified