Gentleman’s Gospel

I don’t preach from no holy book, My gospel’s carved in the scars they took. Whiskey and smoke, they’ve been my choir, Every hymn I sing is dressed in fire.

This is the gentleman’s gospel, Written in fire and lies. This is the gentleman’s gospel, Where every truth still dies.

Cigars burn slow where the sinners kneel, Gold rings shine but the wounds don’t heal. No psalms, no saints, no holy ground, Only smoke when the truth comes down.

This is the gentleman’s gospel, The scripture of the lost. Every word is a scar, Every vow has its cost.

The preacher’s silence can’t drown my sins, I found salvation where the darkness begins.

This is the gentleman’s gospel, Written on my skin. This is the gentleman’s gospel, And I won’t confess again.

“My gospel… is smoke and scars.”

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