Cathedral

What good's bead-spinning alone in your room?
Hump in the pew; it's full.
Vice in the cathedral—go hump; come in the cathedral.
Put down the missal; it's time to commune.
Deploy your own missile.
Vice in the cathedral—go hump; come in the cathedral.
Guzzle the wine; it's rather bland.
Come blow a horn; start genuflection—
You can be your own brass section.

Got plenty of false prophets in the room;
One's called the "papal bull."
Vice in the cathedral—go hump; come in the cathedral.

I'd like to biblically know Sister Elsie,
Who rings the bell when she balls in the belfry.
The archbishop himself was her delfow'rer.
Now she gives the altar boys higher powers.
Underneath her habit, she wears no knickers—
Makes it handy for novices and vicars.
There goes an old priest dressed up like a queen.
He sports the nattiest stole since Fulton Sheen.*

I think of Elsie in carnal ways. . .
Like to turn her over while my member sways.

Put down the missal; it's time to commune.
Deploy your own missile.
Vice in the cathedral—go hump; come in the cathedral.

Some ass for me! Some ass for me!
Now I am up there, in the belfry,
Banging the bell, as well as Elsie.

Now I'm emitting some labial rheum;
After ten months, I was full.
Vice in the cathedral, go hump.
Get b*ned in the cathedral, no rump.
Make love in the cathedral.