Bring to me the men of God
Who trip ov’r their vestments,
They stumble in their shoes well shod
Unfit for divine assessments.
And each by each they are to kneel
Before the font of reason
And each displays a golden heal
For it’s wealth that is their treason.
And when the bishops try to pray
Heavy gold flows from their jaws
And as it crushes down their cassocks hear them bray
And tear off their gilded gowns with frantic claws.
For they take on the pomp of ancient kings
And all forsake Jah’s edict
But see now the fate it brings
To those who feign believe it.
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