Heath McNease - Thrift Store Jesus lyrics

[Hook] I will settle for Any type of remedy Prayin' to a thrift store Jesus He looks a little like me Same hair, same face Painter took some liberties Prayin' to a thrift store Jesus I really hope he's here I really hope he's here with me [Verse 1] I got this painting of Jesus from a Goodwill He look like Richard Marx, but kinda hood, still And all my friends asked me, "What kind of good will this picture do for you?" I said, "It cost me one bill." It's kinda racist how they anglicize the faces And ignore the basic demographics based on his location But I took comfort in it, cause there was something in it It wasn't form or function, it was busted from a distance Finished product look like how I'd painted it if I did it Novice brushstrokes, can't help but paint within our limits It looks bad in the dark, it looks awful in light Like, flip the switch, there's Jesus Singing "Hold On To The Night" 80's Pop star, woo-the-ladies rock star But who's to say this newbie painter Ain't still moving God's heart with pure intentions I ain't caused his heart to move an inch As Jesus's looking at me, talking like, "Whose room is this?" [Hook] I will settle for Any type of remedy Prayin' to a thrift store Jesus He looks a little like me Same hair, same face Painter took some liberties Prayin' to a thrift store Jesus I really hope he's here I really hope he's here with me [Verse 2] (Yeah, yeah) It wasn't really Jesus, it looked like Keith Green Replacing Springsteen when he sings with E Street He looked like Kenny Rogers A younger Kenny Loggins, Sonny Crockett, Barry Gibb Or one of Kenny's fathers He said "Whose room is this?" Yeah, you know whose it is Eyes was on some Mona Lisa-type of Louvre maneuver tricks Follow my moves, saw pockets full, he saw those broken ties Saw me tell those homeless types "I'm broke," and never broke my stride Followed the shrewdest lies In movement's time And who was I? Colluded sigh My suicide is foolish pride Polluted mind Blunderous each day Under this cheap frame Forgive my trespa**es Lead me not in greed's way It was my frame of reference A crude subjective piece The pictures of the great physician I don't get to see And that's what I need-- a tiny mustard seed That ever it's fate that grows And hope that shows what substance brings He's in the subtle things, he's in the ugly things Sometimes it's what we see obstructing us from what we need [Outro] (Aaah aah aah aah) x14