[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 trespasses
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