Don’t you dare come knockin’ at my door
Guru in your hand me down robes
and your canned sayings with your tearing eyes.
Don’t tell me what to do or what to think.
Go tell it on the mountain and curl your hair some more.
Get off my porch Jehovah nut
and take your pamphlets with you
Before you go, Presumption, meet Thunder.
The only thing I’ll ever introduce you to.
Sanctimonious sidlers with crooked teeth and greasy smiles.
They know it all, the mysteries of the universe, secrets revealed to them alone.
In this sea of randomness we call life, you want to tell us what you think about it all
because your answers are in propagation and your message – indoctrination
You hypnotize, and theorize and create a sycophantic mass
All your parishioners lives are still such a raging mess.
I’ll hand deliver the message to you in an unbending bow.
SHUT YOUR PIE HOLE CUZ YOU AIN’T NO SAGE, MO FO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!