-Hypocrite, Hypocrite-
by Bryan MilesHypocrite, hypocrite, where are you going?
You're all polished up, but your knickers are showing
You stand on the corner shouting to the crowd
And everything you say is boisterous and LOUD
No one gets by you, and no one gets past
You're wearing your sackcloth, and proof of your fast
Your face is disgruntled, you're wearing a frown
Your hair is disheveled, and ripped is your gown
Your feet are all dirty, your sandals are torn
You stand in the sunlight, and blow your own horn
Hypocrite, hypocrite, better live what you pray
You babble till sunset with nothing to say
You sound like a scholar, such a student of the scroll
But the knowledge in your head never reached your own soul
Hypocrite, hypocrite, better live what you preach
For much more than words come from a good speech
You stand in the courtyard, shake your fists to the sky
Not only the Father is hearing your cry
Hypocrite, hypocrite, stop all the drumming
Wash up your face! Jesus is coming!
Hypocrite, hypocrite, before it's too late
Better look in the mirror, and clean your own plate...
