| He slips in through the back door
|
| And he helps himself to the patients' medicine
|
| And he likes to look important
|
| And he always looks like he’s impotent
|
| And each tale that he tells of the lives that he’s saved
|
| Is a spade full of dirt as he’s digging his grave
|
| And the deep blackened hallow he’s patched with a badge
|
| Is the happiness he’s never had
|
| And he says
|
| «It's all right, they know me here
|
| It’s all right, they know me, they know me.»
|
| His flames are yesterday’s tinsel
|
| And his belly’s the sail that propels him
|
| Onto the rocks
|
| And you know that even the noble Don Quixote would
|
| Call him a mile away for a windmill
|
| And each Sunday that passes he’s rid of his sins
|
| And he’s ready to do them all over again
|
| And God won’t be mad for the money he stole
|
| He put some in the offering bowl
|
| And he says
|
| «It's all right, they know me here
|
| It’s all right, they know me, they know me.»
|
| Soon comes the moment that all souls await
|
| Just as sure as St. Peter will padlock the gate
|
| But deep in his wallet’s a shiny new coin
|
| So, he turns and he winks and says
|
| «It's all right, they know me here
|
| It’s all right, they know me, they know me
|
| It’s all right, they know me here
|
| It’s all right, they know me, they know me."
|
| Devils, for liars, put brands on the fires
|
| And everyone burns, with your glowing, red name on it
|
| Finally, you’ve come to a place where they
|
| Know you well |