|
|
KRSNA
Set 'em up, break 'em down,
And pass the cup around,
It's the last that we will share for quite some time.
I've shaved my head- wear a dress,
I've left my bonnie wife,
I've got Krishna riding shotgun on the stagecoach of my life.
My sweet Lord Ramarama,
Got my ticket to Nirvana,
It's a commune just left of county Cork.
Share a pint with me Lord Shiva,
As we read the Bhagavad Gita,
I'll have Krishna riding shotgun on the stagecoach of my life.
Well I used to be a cattle prod for Jesus,
And L. Ron Hubbard took me in some too.
I was a moonie, loved Charles Manson,
But they are not as handsome,
As the godhead whose skin is shining blue.
My sweet Lord Ramarama,
Got my ticket to Nirvana,
It's a commune just left of county Cork.
Share a pint with me Lord Shiva,
As we read the Bhagavad Gita,
I'll have Krishna riding shotgun on the stagecoach of my life.
Hari Hari Ha Hooray!
I chant it every day,
With my virtue tucked proudly in my lap.
And I pray all night to Krishna,
'Cos he's a damn good listener,
And never ever ever answers back.
My sweet Lord Ramarama,
Got my ticket to Nirvana,
It's a commune just left of county Cork.
Share a pint with me Lord Shiva,
As we read the Bhagavad Gita,
I'll have Krishna riding shotgun on the stagecoach of my life.
And when Irish eyes are trying to make the Pommies pay,
We'll get Krishna and his shotgun to join the IRA,
The IRA- the IRA,
Hari Hari Ha Hooray! |
|
|