When the big dog of fate sniffs the crotch of infinity
And pees on the lamp post of time
You may well consider the light of divinity
But not whilst you’re still in your prime.
The clergy foretell of the love of a deity
And preach that we’ve nothing to fear
Then they pass the collection plate round to the laity
To pay for their whisky and beer.
And good pious monks who ferment and distil it
Will sell you some hooch for a fee
But a priest with a plate will demand that you fill it
Cos you don’t get salvation for free!
Some clergymen lack any sense of vocation
And most of them like to imbibe
They could all buy their own so withhold your donation
For God has no need of the bribe!
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