The Last Great Audit - Quaker City Night Hawks

Well, here comes Johnny talking ‘bout using his wits

While the rest try to find out just who wrote all of his hits

And you can’t blame a man that secured his sins

In a hole that you made just for him

Run now, tell them, shake him till each row fits

Till he cut out his heart and finally has to admit

That nothing is sacred till it becomes print

In his own hand more than this

Behind those pages rages words so they may

Try to explain to a son who just can’t understand

Why he’d rather sit down than make a stand

In an old roadhouse just a

And how many how they can

when we can

walk through the gates

Try to is this the