Papal hat miters, miters. . .

Here’s stir. . .no madams, so they read the Book.
For tuchus, cheers at night. . .thrill to stake a nook.
They’ll bray a novena, then randily leer,
Want that seeding knob in a vault of he,
These papal hat miters,
Papal back-spikers.

They’ve got dermis scoring as they urge the gland;
They’ve said “nix” to wives, so they’re wrung by hand;
The Son ain’t lurking as they pray for tail.
With the headed knobs they seek faults to breach,
These papal back miters,
Papal back-likers.

Papal crack-pikers

(hymnal interlude)

They go down on pages like the raging crew
Of self-righteous whores—need I speak of who[m]?
When the stake grows stronger, they will spike a child;
It’s an anus pound in a mauling spree,
These papal back miters,
Papal back tykers.

They can squeally tyke-spit as they halve that site;
They can spray a million in an opened sprite.
With their lust—besperm it; when they spend, no fear
’cause the See don’t break wanton lechery.
Sees Papal back tykers,
From the law hides ’em.

Papal hat miters
(Papal back miters)
Papal back-likers
(Papal crack-pikers)
Papal back tykers
(Papal back-spikers)