Come on, let me have it
Come on down to Hell
Come on, and cum again
Just keep on cumming
And feel it swell and swell . . .

So, well, kiss the beast
All horny in the choir
Pissed on our priest
It was bliss for the liar
Notice that scent so true?

Never expected to piss on
The anointer of you . . .
And it was the night before
His Easter sermon —
His black sanctity hung on the door

As he lie in the bathtub
After picking me up at a bar
Only to offer beer after beer
Till my bladder was full
Enough to piss into his abyss

The mouth that speaks for God
Berating all to get through
To what’s been taught to stick to you —
Hung on a cross? Hung turned him on
Though no one knew . . .

Hustler of instinct, what came across
Was the priest shooting his load
For the price that I cost . . .
Calling it Holy Water
My piss splattering his cross

Oh, clergyman of ignorant booze
Convinced of cheers from his pews
Man of the cloth, drenched and nude
Through SMS, let’s spread the news
That our preacher’s collar is a ruse

For I saw as I pissed on his eager face
The very waste from which the gospel
Would fall from his licking the taste
Of urine from his lips to our disgrace

Yes, as a hustler I learned God’s truth:
That God is never found in a church
Or a baptism of fresh meat or youth . . .
No, God (oh, God) is in your heart —
Or a Goddess, but consider this a start