They are abiders guided by ludicrous god
Their gist is a rite and we are derived
From the prey of barbarous pray
They swore the apostates would be slain
Puissance will spread and render new slaves
They will spearhead this fervent Crusade
By these fatuous sins they will execrate
They round us up by sacred decoy
We cannot unriddle this amrita ploy
We resemble an insouciant fatstock,
That waits for meatman and his mock
We grow vernal nurture for deity`s morgue
We draggle that ponderous crucifix, cross
Because of chaotic and despotic dross
Priests, scoff my flout and englut my gore
Bigots, sensate my bugbear from every pore!