They come with collars,
They don't care
'bout Saint Pete's Square.
They like to rape beaus.
Coming, collars 'neath their hair;
In prelate lair,
They come with collars.

You're preteen, they'll undress you,
Then they're pryin' number 2
To interface with your tail
As they seek the holey grail.
You'll serve as their "lady"…transfer'nce.

They come with collars
And they snare
Lads in their lair.
They like to rape beaus.
Coming, collars 'neath their hair;
They say a prayer,
Then come in colons.

You're preteen, you'll play the role
Of the queen; draped is a stole
'round your collar; if you shout
Loud enough and they're found out…
Sent 'way with a hasty transfer.

Were never collared,
Were sent there,
Here, everywhere,
But then the case broke.
Now dioceses won't spare
No cost. Don't air
Soiled vestments. Case closed.