Cain middle-fingered Abel
Why these brothers gotta fight?
Jacob groped God
And he touched his inner thigh

Jesus faced the Greeks and the Pharisee thinkers
Now we take communion and he passes over our sphincters

The Romans ****** into his hands and then they penetrated his side
He couldn’t get it up for 3 days and two nights

But now it’s free for all
And we didn’t get the chop
For being white guys with circumcised *****

Holy Spirit licked em’ all with the Pentecostal tongues
But don’t try to taste Judas,
since we know he’s well hung

Baby Jesus getting laid in a manger of a bed
John the Baptist died in prison but I hear he gave them head

God is bigger than you know
Stepping on his own snake
And when we get to Heaven,
We’ll see it on the wedding day

From what did God make angel’s wings?
Or melodies that birdies sing?
Did He put stars in Heaven’s sky?
Why create man to ask Him why?
How has He no end and no start,
And yet still fit within our heart?
He made me be but why make me?
Why did He make one plus two three?
No one can understand God’s plan,
Or why He has concern for man.
So while it might make sense above,
I simply can’t explain our love.

Destiny maketh me to lie down in sullied pastures
and shows me in an instant what is mine.
I am mother of my will, steward of my nature.
I embrace the children born of the seed of my misgivings.

Inherent nature calls for us to mourn
a child of woe, born in Eden's harem
she is wandering.  The taste of fruit still lingers
on her tongue as she is blessed, and passes through
the garden pleasure's widow.

So man may know the breadth of immorality
God hath given what I am to none but I.
And for you, oh child of nature,
naiveté of man, I will tell of all the
truths you've yet to know.

I am the sole proprietor of love's embittered light.
Suitor's move to choose me in a smooth unfettered sweep,
a lily plucked from dewy beds of beauty.

Among thieves I am the memory of prelapsarian song,
of how it was before we were the way we are.
The gaiety of goodness, weightlessness of night,
are wrought too plainly now to be mistaken...

those days are gone--and I,
an unlikely proctor for the movement of the age,
will stand alone.

───────────────▄▄───▐█
───▄▄▄───▄██▄──█▀───█─▄
─▄██▀█▌─██▄▄──▐█▀▄­─▐█▀
▐█▀▀▌───▄▀▌─▌─█─▌──▌─▌
▌▀▄─▐──▀▄─▐▄─▐▄▐▄─▐▄─▐▄

Jane of the Jungle (she’s all good)
charmed our world as Darwin’s daughter.
Anglican primates notwithstood,
her leaky theories held some water.

Streams of ngombe, sacred cows
were celebrated. What were these
to which the simian cosmos bows?
Irrelevant hypotheses.

Selecting great apes (naturally)
Miss Misanthrope researched, with love;
her theories, stated factually,
were hailed as truth from God above.

Hoping for reason, shadowing Man
the graybeards came for tempting fruit
unaware of their part in the plan:
to be used, like tools (but more hirsute).

Termites on a slender stalk
delighted hungry primate souls.
Her ripe bananas were the talk
of primatological controls.

peeling off; mzungu starkness
starred the Tanzanian night.
Chimping out, she lit the darkness
claiming scientific right.

Sweating out the Tarzan fever,
naming names while hugging apes
let us, laughing, love and leave her
to her anthropoid escapes.