If we can’t depend on the decency of the American people,
all bets are off.
Here’s the church, here’s the steeple,
I open my hands backwards and see all the finger-people
waving and taking their hats off.
Those are the American people,
as ardent and innocent as apple
pie with its crust off.
Here’s the church, here’s the steeple—
when you count them all up on election day, you see a heap of
mighty-good folks who stood the test when our leaders were off
their rocker—trying to prey on silly people
who'll shut up and cooperate when they get a spoon of maple
syrple in their gaping cake-holes. It’s a bake-off,
winner to be announced in the basement of that steepled
church, where the cake’s all dough—no baking soda.
Time to complete the sell-off.
Sell the church, sell the steeple,
open the doors and sell all the people.
