The Pope

The Pope is on the balcony, the priesthood is in flames
They don’t believe in God, they don’t believe in corporate shame
In the name of the hierarchy of old men with no soul
They lose their grip with tremblin' fingers, try to keep control
But below the papal balcony, his flock don’t give a damn
They’ve made their life investment in this graven image scam
While the crowd is not for turning, despite the shocks and stares
Poor Jesus keeps on bleeding those religious stocks and shares
The Pope is in a holy dress 'cause the drugs have just kicked in
He dreams he’s won the holy war against the evil sinners
He thinks, «Somebody must do something to set my priesthood free
We must call in the authority, but oh, my God, that’s me!»
So the spin doctors work overtime, talk up the Catholic brand
No women priests, no gay priests, does the devil show his hand?
The punishments terrestrial while God, He winks and sighs
Their spiritual satisfaction in commercial enterprise
The God of love looks down on this, why is She not surprised?
She gave birth to these wankers with no thank you in their eyes
The Pope is in a holy dress 'cause the drugs have just kicked in
He dreams he’s won the holy war against the evil sinners
He thinks, «Somebody must do something to set my priesthood free
We must call in the authority, but oh, my God, that’s me!»