You prelates think vice,
About cleaving a behind.
You’re in a bind
’cause the world is on to you.
You ain’t no saints; sleazy
Is your club that had its way--
Did as you pleased
With small boys and felt no shame.
Lech’rously you’d come on to them and surround them,
Then you spear them with your dong; your ring
You had ’em kiss post-fling. . .weren’t made to pay,
But now your sins have seen the light of day.

You prelates ain’t nice—
Bouts of cleaving a behind.
The more we find
There’s an awful lot of you.
You look for lad spice
’cause women are hard to choose.
Rape ’em little. . .nine
Years old, kneeling in the pews.

This time, your loathsome lechery will haunt you,
The crimes not cached away so easily,
Now that the sins have been revealed.
Come also has the time to get god’s dog* heeled.

You’d better think twice
About cleaving a behind.
No one would mind
You thought; we’re on to you.
Who’ll pay for lad vice?
The popeman ain’t gonna lose
His seat way up high—
Fellas/felons/fellates, you may sing the blues.


*When Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger ran The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith and was turning a blind eye to clergy pedophilia, he was referred to as “God’s Rottweiler."