| Time | |
| Time is money, bastard | |
| And hope | |
| Is all that you can steal | |
| And time | |
| Is happy ever after | |
| With Jesus, Jesus, | |
| Jesus, Jesus at the wheel | |
| And you are so beautiful | |
| That I would drink my fill | |
| More pure and more suitable | |
| Than any pint of poison | |
| I could guzzle or spill | |
| War | |
| War is money, bastard | |
| Cos fear | |
| Keeps knocking at your door | |
| But war | |
| Is spreading like a cancer | |
| With Jesus, Jesus | |
| Jesus marching on before | |
| And you are so beautiful | |
| That I will drink my fill | |
| More pure and more suitable | |
| Than any pint of poison | |
| I could guzzle or spill | |
| Love | |
| Claims to have the answer | |
| To all | |
| Your troubles every day | |
| Love | |
| Love is money, bastard | |
| So like Jesus, Jesus, | |
| Jesus, give it all away | |
| And you are so beautiful | |
| That I will drink my fill | |
| More pure and more suitable | |
| Than any pint of poison | |
| I could guzzle or spill | |
| I could guzzle or spill | |
| I could guzzle or spill | |
| I could guzzle or spill | |
| I could guzzle or spill |
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