Mr. Brown, you've wrought a momly daughter
From Magdala, married Son sans flair.
See said, "Wrong!" Non-Gnostics nixed the vow,
Not endeared of the "slut"; a matron, you opine:

Married to the man who walked on water,
Turned said substance to wine, healed the lame.
Beating "Kong," in box office, I vow. . .
Not endeared to the nuts who boost sales when they whine.

The movie's out, drawing worldwide crowds;
It's got ticket clout.
Makes for Pope spiel: "No vow!"

It has peeved Mel Gibson; frowning See stews (frowning See stews).
Hellfire types smell sulfur--not from mine (not from mine).
Let's get on with life; it's fictive art,
As is this parody--there's no reason to whine.

Blogging a shout, the debunkers spout,
Which fuels ticket clout.
Makes the Pope squeal so loud.

Mix me, please, a Gibson, round onion, too (round onion, too);
Ain't waitin' in a long movie line (movie line).
I'll get on; perhaps I'll 'Flix this art
As a rental sometime. Till then, I'm feeling fine.

Mr. Brown, you've wrought a book much bought, sir
(Book much bought, sir).
Mr. Brown, it spawned a flick much watched, sir
(Flick much watched, sir).
Mr. Brown saunters to bank with laughter
(Bank with laughter).
Mr. Brown, a mountebank or master?
('Bank or master?)
Mr. Brown, don't touch the holy water
(Holy water).