Brother John the fiery preacher
“Praise the Lord” we hear him yell
Thanks his god in church on Sundays
Visits prostitutes on Mondays
Someone needs to purge their sins
And he is on a mission
For fifty bucks their bums he hires
And from his task he never tires
With leather strap in hand he rants
Pulls their pants down; rubs their bottoms
Orders them across the chair
Nice soft bottoms, pink and bare
Crimson welts appear like magic
Suffer pain to gain salvation
Now the wrath of God they feel
All the better if they squeal
Spare the rod and spoil the child
The scriptures say that, do they not?
Beneath his cassock, brown and flowing
Brother John is stiff and hot
His task on earth seems never-ending
Sure is he of place on high
John will not his duty shirk
No Devil tempt him from his work
“Hush my child” they hear him holler
“Take your pain and save your soul.
Follow Him, His way is best.
Now tell me, which of you is next?”
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