God wears a beret
and lives in the South of France
with his Mum the Virgin Mary.
Pina Colada!
I’ll have mine with a slice of lime
says Mary, belching politely.
Wise old cove is God.
Would yeh put that clove of garlic down
for the Divil’s after leaving
back to his home in Amerikay
where the craic is black deceiving.
I’ll be having none of them
Gobshites in my happy home.
Never since the Fall of Rome
have I seen the like of it!
Obama, Santorum or Mitt the Tit
will be leaving us all in a pile of … ordure.
Pass over them freedom fries!
Said with a sense of hauteur.
God may be odd but he’s still our only divinity
with his French passport, actually Eurozone
and talking, talking on the phone
for what seems like near infinity,
but the calls are free for sure.
Seven days! Seven fuckin days,
I’m tired of all your bleedin lies
well it was six to be factually honest:
I took a day off at the end. Any working man
is allowed his day of rest. And I was the best!
Created this world, now would yeh look at it.


