“Hey, how much meth should I measure
so that when were hot, humping,
I’ll increase sexual pleasure.
I’m thrilled that lad in chaps’ lips bite,
yet tightly wound.
Tonight we won’t hear gospel music…
squalid hotel sound

“I’m randy and horny, get this preacher wet
after I’m spaced out.”
T-t-t-teddy wants his meth

How he sneers at drugs in Sunday school,
though Teddy uses fleeced means
spent on sex and a toot
from prostitutes;
you know, he’ll expend it on shaggin’ queen
T-t-t-teddy wants his heft.

Fake is his belief; he’s faithless.
When charges find him,
he’ll first claim that they’re baseless.
Then say some jive: he never tasted a schlong.
It’s mighty apparent that he is sweet
on guys though he says it’s wrong.

“I’m randy and horny, let this preacher get
into your face pout."
T-t-t-teddy wants it cleft.

How he sneers at buggery yet drools
at unsaintly petered jeans.
Expendin’ his flock’s loot
on prostitutes.
He’ll be upended by this yakkin’ queen.
“G-g-g-gets me in the press.”

Ted bandies homilies; the leech he bangs gets
mad, and gay ted’s out.
T-t-t-teddy gotta get

Now no more preachin’ on Sunday, fool.
Teddy, it’s not “Queen of Queens.”
He gave the meth a toot
and a skin flute,
and so they shed him quick, the haggard team—
T-t-t-teddy up and left.

Teddums led ’em on then bedded men for sex and meth.
Dread ’im, Teddums; shed ’im, ted’s done; of ted they’re bereft.