We're talkin' about a thick necked man in the city
Build a pub a blood and sweat
Swears by God he'll stand by justice
He aint stood by justice yet
He gets them [bad word] and gets their money
They cash their welfare checks for stout
Now he throws them into the street
He's sucked you in, he'll spit you out

This money-minded son of a [bad word] 
Will not a penny lend
And all I can do is pray to God
He'll suffer in the end

We're talkin' 'bout thick-necked man in a three-piece
Killing from his office desk
The many places he has been
And many more he'll visit yet
Without his mommy's pride & kisses
Without his country's confidence
Without the dying man's permission
Without no guilt or consequence

This bloody-minded son of a [bad word] 
Has not a wound to mend
And all I can do is pray to God
He'll suffer in the end

Now we're talkin' 'bout a thick-necked man in a fist fight
Losing lots of blood
It's not his night, his boss is uptight
His face and name are covered in mud
He watches T.V., all star wrestling
Slams a six of ale
Hits his wife, wrecks the car
And spends the long dark night in jail
Well the Preacher man, [bad word] and asks him
Does he know the mess he's in?
He says he'll turn to Jesus if he'll
Bail him out and buy him gin

This narrow-minded son of a [bad word] 
Has not a soul to mend
And all I can do is pray to God
He'll get one in the end