Whinny, bleat, moo, squeal:
it's time, goy cattle, for your Sunday meal
prepared in pulpit by a bulbous, beady-eyed parasite
eager to betray Race and earn honored place in yid paradise.
From altar to pew he'll alter your view
offering one-and-all awful blessings of the Chosen few,
such as: dips in cursed holy water;
nigger Crips for your virgin daughter;
a piece of stale bread suggesting flesh of kosher dead
placed in the mouth, when it should go further south instead;
boring sermon from Satan's sperm teaching us Whitey is crap--
please pause a peaceful moment to digest your pap.
A final Word chirped to hayseed herd, then a song
about how lying jews are right and the goddamn truth is wrong.
Close your holy book, neigh amen, feel thy molded soul swell;
be good sheep until fleeced again next week--now go to hell.
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