for the feelings you feel as you watch it all burn
there's a girl in the distance
she's calling your name
but the name that she's calling is not your name
she calls: the word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!
but he's plowing the field
the word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!
but he's plowing the field
and you can't walk on that water
i know 'cause i tried
it's our spider web-thinking
it's just too heavy with holes
and our thoughts they are made up of red georgia clay
we think we know everything
but man we don't know: the word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!
but he's plowing the field
the word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!
but he's plowing the field here come the word-mule!
my friends
look out for hustlers for preachers for shysters
them silver-tongued saints who pretend to do good
'cause they're geeks biting chicken-heads off with their witty rejoinders they ain't nothing but greasy fast food for: the word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!