Chanted:
What’s goin’ on in there? Never the See puts a stop to those lays,
Although many people and groups are gettin’ on its case.
Still, the teachers are treating the boys like their “girlfriends.”
Prelates scope ’em, choose, then have ’em, hump ’em while the bells chime.
But are they hounded out of the priesthood?
Hell no! Around they’re shifted.

Sung:
Thinkin’s not of lass poon; give it up, a drag.
Rhythm never needed—lads ain’t on the rag.
The church bell rings, so what does he do?
He’s gonna meat the boy and score ’cause they’re blue.

Pokin’ in the boy’s room,
Pokin’ little-boy “poon.”
Prowed preacher will fill him up with his tool—
Everybody knows that pokin’ abounds in these schools.

The press puts out the call, makin’ sure the Pope can hear;
All he does is stall till he finds some dupes, that’s clear,
’cause this clannish gang has placed a pall
On the lot that lech then fetch and securely ball.

Pokin’ in the boy’s room,
Pokin’ little-boy moon.
Prowed preacher willfully shutps. . .he’s no mule—
Everybody knows that pokin’ abounds in these schools.

A putsch in the church is what some call for,
To change the rules from century four.
Preachers get nooky; there’s no way around
Antiquated strictures—tear ’em down.

Popin’ brings the boys doom (yes, indeed it does),
Pokin’ wife, not boy “poon”
For preachers—where they should put their tool.
Forced celibacy shows that Popin’ makes defrau'd men drool.