The Pope - Daevid Allen

The Pope is on the balcony, the priesthood is in flames

They don’t believe in God, they don’t believe in corporate shame

In the name of the hierarchy of old men with no soul

They lose their grip with tremblin' fingers, try to keep control

But below the papal balcony, his flock don’t give a damn

They’ve made their life investment in this graven image scam

While the crowd is not for turning, despite the shocks and stares

Poor Jesus keeps on bleeding those religious stocks and shares

The Pope is in a holy dress 'cause the drugs have just kicked in

He dreams he’s won the holy war against the evil sinners

He thinks, «Somebody must do something to set my priesthood free

We must call in the authority, but oh, my God, that’s me!»

So the spin doctors work overtime, talk up the Catholic brand

No women priests, no gay priests, does the devil show his hand?

The punishments terrestrial while God, He winks and sighs

Their spiritual satisfaction in commercial enterprise

The God of love looks down on this, why is She not surprised?

She gave birth to these wankers with no thank you in their eyes

The Pope is in a holy dress 'cause the drugs have just kicked in

He dreams he’s won the holy war against the evil sinners

He thinks, «Somebody must do something to set my priesthood free

We must call in the authority, but oh, my God, that’s me!»