The "rev" bit's a con, parishioners were his pawns;
He snagged his take--he said "give it to me!"
This faker had bled many marks of their bread;
This guy resembled hogs called with "sooeey"!

What a load o' lies this pork would dish out; a ton or more
Did the Reverend Falwell weigh, plenty.
Fat lips took in food, and then faux mots were spewed
As he railed about heaven's gates pearly.

This piggy was wide; he looked like a marbled side
Of fat ham that had too much swig-slop fun.
As relig. cankers grow he was bigger than most
In a crew of bad chaplains, hell's minions.

Used once Johnny terms that were truthful and firm,
But then he made a Faustian bargain.
Where he once would fight this self-shilling gang
Who from the gullible gelt were chargin'.

The wind from the liar was a scammin' tale sound
As the big fake hauled his daily take in.
"Rev'rend" scam's not new, Bakker, Roberts, and crew
From church members have always been stealin'.

The con can't wait, get those checks into the plate
Agents pray as their fleeced flocks fling cash in.
To snatch it's no pain; it's all tax-free gain. . .
Stuffed his face with a curve-the-plate ration.

In olden times, John said, these guys, most rednecks
Were agents of intolerance; he'd use
Such terms, no pretense; he'd not sit on the fence
But pissed off the base hissing in the pews.

Then John said, "My friend," to himself, "I will amend
My stance; I'll kiss and make up till all's well."
He knelt down right at the site where there's no light,
Then he's neck-deep up Reverend Falwell.

As many folks know it's a man-of-god pose
That these knaves put on hour after hour,
Besmirching faith's name, they're what goes down the drain
When you flush, they epitomize shyster.

John prayed/preyed at their butts, 'cause he's a wily guy,
Knowing some voters need authority.
To play to the base, he'd need to put his face
Up leader of "moral majority."

Fakes, human trolls; superior stings
Bring these goons booty for buying mansions.
Faux religion schemes mean they bring in the sheaves,
Politics play, IRS should tax 'em.

John bartered his soul, paid homage to troll,
Made inroads, gave Jerry's back-ender
A kiss, then he extols a huge ahole who controls
What many world-enders vote, November.

For a crusty old pol's what John hopes they'll pray,
So it's Sarah time. . .mayor can read well.
The church-Belt kind love her uninquiring mind;
Bet she's a fan of Reverend Falwell.

The "rev" was a con, parishioners were his pawns.
He said, "John, tongue like snake--give it to me!"
Supersized whore for bread, netherworld pimp's now dead;
When at gates he showed. . .ember'd, not pearly.