It's getting a little bit whimsical
But my weather is becoming typical
You know her, she's bent over
The knee of the christian solider
He smacks like a stacked packed Mack truck
And I'll be moving like a mojo out of luck
Those rich men they're like lighting
Divinity never looked so frightening
It's getting a little fantastical
Like tarantula tickling my clavicle
Do-re-me you don't rape me
Your crucifix wouldn't fuckin fit in me
Your faith is becoming typical
Moving against everything instinctual
Unholy, but not lonely
Wasn't going to hell, till you told me.