Old man Johnson always had something wise to tell,
he made a deal with some devils in a firey He**.
He'd preach to us kids of the blood stained skies and the ashen ground,
the ash that drifted up and the blood that rained down.
He'd saturate our minds with the tales of the d***ed,
and teach us the ways of how to be a man.

He hardened our spines and tapped our skulls,
lectured a speech that fired the coals.

He taught us the ways a real soldier fights,
with guns, with muscle, with an explosive device.

Old man Johnson was the name we spoke of,
but such a scarce few knew who he really was.

Old man Johnson wasn't human or man,
he was the demon that provoked you, choking you by hand.

Old man Johnson wasn't a ghost or a soul,
he was the reaper that appeared and froze you cold.

He rhymed and chimed with haunting fouls,
and gave us creases etched as angry scowls.

Old man Johnson was how we were raised,
and old man Johnson was our chains that chafed.

Old man Johnson was the hate we had,
Old man Johnson was us when we were mad.

...and it's old man Johnson that left me this way,
but it's just myself that discovered him that day,
and it's just myself that let him stay,
and it's just myself that passed away.

Old man Johnson you are free to go,
I know everything you took -
while you left me with nothing to show.

I say old man Johnson you are free to go,
Black bird fly, black bird crow...

I've got to find myself,
I've got to find my soul.
I've got to find myself, so I can have something to show...