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Slim Cessna's Auto Club
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Sour Patch Kids
Come up from the garden, boys
Listen unto me
I've got a brand new job for you
A new way to spread your seed
Papa, we've been workin'
For 13 years on end
I've taught your children the way of seeds
On these we can depend
Lay your shovels in the dirt
Your hands have turned green
I'll teach ya's how to hold your mouth
I'll teach ya how to sing
You know while you were away
Much rumors came to me
Your faith in prayer has turned us hard
And always left us hungry
Come up from the garden
We don't want ya anymore
Lay down your shovels
We don't want ya anymore
Sing from the gospel
We don't want ya anymore
13 years I walked and roamed
And questioned folk's desire
I learned it good, cause I wrote it down
They want a gospel choir
Papa, I anticipate
Where your cunning plan do lead
The only way to open our mouths
Is to gives us food to eat
Children come on the porch
And let the song begin
There won't be worries about the food
In that earthly garden
Papa you sure spread it thick
That much we have realized
I would strike you down if you were of good stock
With my garden fertilized
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Come up from the garden
We don't want ya anymore
Lay down your shovels
We don't want ya anymore
Sing from the gospel
We don't want ya anymore
Well, you people hear my papa's pretty, womanly voice?
Well papa, I say enough – we got our own way of singin'
(ba ba ba...)
Children, that song you sing
Has anger, spite and hurt
You sing it well, though it's gone wild
My leave's what you deserve
Your nerve, as thick as a city's ways
To speak of our dessert
You planted us with your fallacy
And return to double curse
Now child I've got the feeling
That you don't want to join me
You're soft on the eyes but hard in the head
Forever you'll be green
Sir, my temper's grown worse
Than a joker gone astray
If you don't come work in your children's garden
Then with your life, you will pay
Come up from the garden
We don't want ya anymore
Lay down your shovels
We don't want ya anymore
Sing from the gospel
We don't want ya anymore
Well papa, you children here work this land you stuck us with
And for us to make it through we had to sing all day to make it bearable
So papa, if you don't wanna be buried in this here garden
Then you better learn how to hold your mouth like a workin' man does
And sing (ba ba ba….)
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