With Apologies to Paul Simon
And nuts to you, Mr. Robertson,
You think Jesus loves you more than we could know. No, no, no.
Up yours please, Mr. Robertson,
Heaven holds no place for those who say pray for pay. Hey, hey, hey.
We'd like to know what it is that makes you think the way you do.
We'd like to help you learn to be more sane.
Look around you, all you see are people just like you.
Stroll around the town until you see the pain.
And nuts to you, Mr. Robertson,
You think Jesus loves you more than we could know. No, no, no.
Up yours please, Mr. Robertson,
Heaven holds no place for those who say pray for pay. Hey, hey, hey
Hiding in a mansion where no one ever goes,
Put it on TV with your cameras.
It's a little secret, just the Robertson's affair,
Most of all, you've got to hide it from the law.
What did you do, Mr. Robertson?
You think Jesus loves you more than we could know. No, no, no.
Up yours please, Mr. Robertson,
Heaven holds no place for those who say pray for pay. Hey, hey, hey.
Sitting in your office on a Sunday afternoon,
Going to the candidate's debate.
Laugh about it, lie about it when your head's in the noose.
Any way you look at it you lose.
Where have you gone, Federal Communications Committee,
A nation turns its hopeful eyes to you.
What's that you say, Federal Communications Committee,
You won't lift a finger to fine a man of God.