We each came with our monstrance,
past Lake Como and down the line.
Our record’s not very noble:
we covered up the crimes.
Some nuns were shagged; made mothers
by priests who were getting down,
forcing little boys to bare buns.
We’ll burn ballots till one’s found.
Smoke up? There’s watchers. . .
rising up to the sky.
Pope: gotta have one.

We burn da ballots in da house;
stove is cast iron and round.
Skunky Law skulked out but not kicked out,
let the kids get butt-pound.
And then there’s Mahony,
a diocesan disgrace.
The Swiss Guards all stand about;
The kiss* cards show up at the place.
Smoke up? There’s watchers. . .
rising up to the sky.
Pope: gonna get one.

Benedict pontiff’d a short spell,
then Popped off: “I’m outta here!”
In Castel Gandolfo he is gonna hide,
but some insiders fear
that the Doctrine will still be led
by he of the shoes red.
He’ll never really get out of this
until his fire goes out and he’s dead.
[Ex-] Pope is a goner;
he went and said, “Bye-bye!”
Not yet a goner.


*but no tell