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I was walking through the counters of a national concern |
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And a cash machine was spitting by my shoulder |
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And I saw the multitude of faces, honest, rich and clean |
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As the merchandise exchanged their money roared |
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And a woman hot with worry slyly slipped a tin of stewing steak |
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Into the paper bag at her side |
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And her face was white with fear in case her actions were observed |
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So she closed her eyes to keep her conscience blind |
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Crying, "God knows I'm good, God knows I'm good, God knows I'm good |
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Maybe God will look the other way |
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God knows I'm good, God knows I'm good, God knows I'm good |
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Maybe God will look the other way, hey" |
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Then she moved toward the exit clutching tightly at her paper bag |
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The perspiration trickled down her forehead |
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And her heart it leapt inside her as the hand laid on her shoulder |
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She was led away bewildered and amazed |
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In her head the pounding cash machines were shrieking on the counters |
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As her escort asked her softly for her name |
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And a crowd of honest people rushed to help a tired old lady |
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Who had fainted to the whirling wooden floor |
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Crying, "God knows I'm good, God knows I'm good, God knows I'm good |
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Surely God won't look the other way |
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God knows I'm good, God knows I'm good, God knows I'm good |
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Surely God won't look the other way, no, no" |