THE GAY MOM OF FRED PHELPS THE SENIOR
Come edge your way down to old Westboro town
To the Topeka fringe-atic-loony
Hellbound, it is said, if you're gay when you're dead
And a guy's vital member pass through me
With a load of old hoar, Satanic Temple mocks lore
Mom's gay-wed, Fred Phelps Senior redempt'ry
Devil-worshipping crew wasn't known to me, dude
Till these tales of agenda unworldly
They took no pride in all the soldiers who died
Nor their loved ones from Maine to Wisconsin
The vengeance of God and his heavenly host
Will take you and your captains, they 'reasoned'
Concluding their terms with celestial worms
Baptist Church fundamental believe-land
And mating at night when love's demon bell rang
Could it be hell's temptation we're feeling?
The Satan plan-buyers made a battle-cry sound
At her grave spoke over her, wailing
And Edward loved Stu, Meg and Peg pledged anew
Posthumously sex-preference stealin'
The dawn came late, delta no longer straight
With that Mississippi pink-massing
When afternoon went, Fred's mother was bent
In embrace of a heavenly lez-wind
The Temple's press rep Lucien Greaves came on deck
Sayin' Fred's ma is now Sappho's breed, yah
At seven she dines on heaven's fine 'gynes
Phallus I don't want to know ya
Old Fred was mired in, he had letters comin' in
'Is her ladyship's virtue in peril?'
And later that night, when acolytes outta sight
Tearful wreck of poor Fred, Fred Phelps Senior
Does anyone know where the love of God goes
When depraved minutes turn into hours?
Soul-searchers all say it's OK to be gay
If you put fifteen young years behind you
You might well split up and you might well be prized
May have got into deep water
But soldiers' remains still bear faces and the names
Of their wives and their sons and their daughters
Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
And that old Moon River's romance shone
And passion it steams like a young virgin's dreams
For bi's and for gays and for straight one
And way down below Lucifario
Takes in what fake-eerie can conjure
And the false horned goats blow as life's mariners well know
With the gates of dire dogma dismembered
In a gleaming white hall in Topeka they prayed
In the Westboro Baptist Cathedral
The church bell chimed till out of its mind
For the soul of his mom, Fred Phelps Senior
For the legend lives on from old Hebrew humdrum
'Right', said Fred 'That's all, folks', loony-tuny
It has to be said, when you're dead you are dead
Gay or straight, may death never come early
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