Monk day, monk day—solitary;
monk day, monk day—they’re in a thrall that’s heavenly.
Each monk-day mornin, monk-way snorin’ then ceases to be.
That monk-day eating’s a meal based on simplicity.

Monk day, brunch? Nay—no grand buffet!
Monk day, monk day, there will not be any café.
No monk-day gorgin’—the guy’s get a warning that it’s not meant to be.
On monk day one may indulge in a small cup of tea.

Every single day, they have gotta pray;
that’s the only way, pray to the divine, yea.
Cannot have on monk day, gum, not until it’s kingdom come,
because they’re a-priorin’ all of the time.

Monk day, monk day, solitary;
monk day monk day, they cannot ball; they’re women-free.
No monk-day porkin’, perhaps torquin’ selves manually.
Most monk-day beatings involve a flagellation spree.

Every single day, they follow their ways
almost in a daze; then it is bedtime. Sleep.
Then another monk day comes, with not much flapping of gums
’cause they’re self-denyin’ most of the time.
Monk day, monk day, no puffs today.
Monk day, butt day? Smoking cigarettes? No way.
Slow monk day, up Dei. Say an Ave.
Monk-day hump day? No midweek “Yay!”
No monk-day hump play.