| While digesting Reader’s Digest
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| In the back of a dirty book store,
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| A plastic flag, with gum on the back,
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| Fell out on the floor.
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| Well, I picked it up and I ran outside
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| Slapped on my window shield,
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| And if I could see old Betsy Ross
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| I tell her how good I feel.
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| Chorus:
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| But your flag decal won’t get you
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| Into Heaven any more.
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| They’re already overcrowded
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| From your dirty little war.
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| Now Jesus don’t like killin'
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| No matter what the reason’s for,
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| And your flag decal won’t get you
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| Into Heaven any more.
|
| Well, I went to the bank this morning
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| And the cashier he said to me,
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| «If you join the Christmas club
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| We’ll give you ten of them flags for free.»
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| Well, I didn’t mess around a bit
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| I took her up on what he said.
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| And I stuck them stickers all over my car
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| And one on my wife’s forehead.
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| Repeat Chorus:
|
| Well, I got my window shield so filled
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| With flags I couldn’t see.
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| So, I ran the car upside a curb
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| And right into a tree.
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| By the time they got a doctor down
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| I was already dead.
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| And I’ll never understand why the man
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| Standing in the Pearly Gates said…
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| But your flag decal won’t get you
|
| Into Heaven any more.
|
| We’re already overcrowded
|
| From your dirty little war.
|
| Now Jesus don’t like killin'
|
| No matter what the reason’s for,
|
| And your flag decal won’t get you
|
| Into Heaven any more. |