When Saints Peter and Paul
get faint and teeter and fall,
And hethens recall leapin the wall for reasons ta brawl,
I contemplate stoppin fate, while hate's deceivin us all,
Sometimes that leap of faith's an "Even Steven" reason to withdraw,
It gets deadly wild for ev'ry child thats sleepin on the floor,
When dreams behold the snake then motivate ta even up the score,
I guess I'm cleanin up once more,
By acts of redemption searches,
but the tax on my spendin purchase,
subtracted from ends I've earned just reacts and begins ta surplus,
Got me rushin-turbo to adjust the thermo-
stat on that friendly furnace,
Cuz its getting hot and sinning thoughts-
become facts and they get me nervous,
Because it aint in my budget to entrust in pastors in city churches,
Cuz them bastards with tricky sermons are masters of quick diversions
So casually slickly word it,
A trap for nit-wits that learn it, like graphicly scripted murders,
they have to depict a verdict, or like plans of a sickly hermit,
they might wither away,
one stone in the right position could leed the river astray,
one throne with the right conviction could leed ta mental decay,
but Ask for a minute and Cynic just might give ya a day,
When they ask for a small percentage will you give it away?
This is the real thang, no game that players scrimmage and play,
Envision iconic Christian Islamic image and pray,
Under God invisible, with indivisable pain,
But what could Cynical gain by slice'n at that critical vein?
Deceite to control the meek and weak's a pitiful shame,
By labeling a man a Saint, That individual's name:
becomes subliminally lifted ta unforgetable fame.
And mild liars start wild fires with unpredictable flames.
So which are you, habitual or just a ritual saint?