Holy was the preacher.
|
Riding on his rig of steel in the rising sun.
|
This was no grim reaper.
|
But a man with a smile who took a pride in a job well done.
|
Ohh in a blood red sunrise.
|
He's preaching conversion as you lay down and die.
|
|
Just a god given holy roller.
|
In a god forsaken land.
|
He didn't choose this killing ground.
|
He didn't want this scrap of land.
|
You've got to scorch the earth, yeah.
|
and make the rivers run dry.
|
Untill we learn to hate like him.
|
Kill for killin'. Live to die.
|
|
[CHORUS:]
|
|
Ride on you son of a gun. Ride on. Ride into the setting sun.
|
|
You've gotta be a hero, for one last time.
|
To prove through your destruction.
|
That killing is a great way of life.
|
There's a wooden cross somewhere.
|
Where they'll bury you down deep.
|
You lie to your people, You lie to yourself.
|
Your in love with death babe.
|
You've got no shame.
|
|
[CHORUS]
|
|
The preacher laughed. The preacher cried.
|
He loaded bullets as he smiled.
|
Congregation sat and wondered.
|
Would they live or would they die.
|
Just an ordinary man, with his orders and his plans.
|
In the shadows of a cross.
|
Oh in a blood red sunrise.
|
Take me to jesus, with judas my guide.
|
|
[CHORUS]
|
|
Ride on your bleeding heart.
|
Ride on you play no part.
|
Ride on you feel no pity.
|
Ride on you feel no pain.
|
Ride into history.
|
|
-----------------
|
Son Of A Gun
|
| Bruce Dickinson |
