Some priests take vows: stability,
Obedience, and chastity,
Some take a vow of poverty,
And then, there is The Pope.
Some give up almost every thing
That modern life can surely bring
But look upon that Papal Ring
With lust, or greed, or hope.
They gladly take authority,
Relieving folks like you or me
From any need to think, you see,
Then listen to our sins.
To hear some girl or boy confess
How lust has made their life a mess
Brings fullness to a priestly dress
The minute it begins
“I’ve coveted my neighbor’s ass,
When, such a lovely little lass,
She dressed right by the window glass–
It’s quite a frequent bother!”
If it were not for fear of God
And Satan’s massive cattle prod
I swear a priest would shoot his wad
With every “Bless me, Father…”
And now the Pope, on throne of gold,
Decides to blame, so we are told,
His enemy from days of old–
The folks who don’t believe–
For lust for power, ego, greed,
For taking more that what they need
Rejecting his ascetic creed
And giving earth the heave.
He has the gall to preach restraint
And act the part of slighted saint;
I have to tell myself, “how quaint!
He acts as if we care!”
Surrounded by his gold and jewels,
Pontificating papal rules
To sycophants and silly fools…
Perhaps restraint is what you want if
You are going to say this, Pontiff–
Seems a bit too nonchalant, ef-
fusing thoughts like these,
Ensconced in your luxurious palace,
Sipping from your golden chalice
It frankly, Ratzi, feels like malice:
Authority? Oh, please.