Sellin' him your religion
Say I walking down a hit song
Talking ballshit, ballshit, ballshit,
I want to know, I want to know,
Can you feel the sprit of the Lord?
There's nothing more sinister
Gather round some nice black people
While I deliver this message
You do nothing but socialize
I said can, I get a witness
While I blow my own trumpet
He exchanged the gold and paintings
He gave them new addresses
Oh my fathers, fathers, fathers, father
We are the chi chine tribe
While I blow my own trumpet
For what we are about to receive
Would he agree a stately minuet would be preferable to a rain dance
Hey there bothers and sisters
While I blow my own trumpet
You're so joyful and triumphant
While I blow my own trumpet
Oh joyful and triumphant,
While I blow my own trumpet
Can you feel the spirit of the Lord?
Can you feel the spirit of the Lord?