Bob Has Never Written A Bad Song.

Mama, Put My Guns In The Ground, I Can't Shoot Them Anymore. That Long Black Cloud Is Coming Down.

Peace Will Come With Tranquility And Splendor On The Wheels Of Fire But Will Bring Us No Reward When Her False Idols Fall.

If You're Not Busy Being Born, You're Busy Dying.

The Songs Are My Lexicon. I Believe The Songs.

Satan Will Give You A Little Taste, Then He'll Move In With Rapid Speed.