Atheist Blues, So Help Me God

Moses, oh, Moses,
Come bring your manna down
It’s hard to keep a low profile
with bullets flying ‘round.
Your people stand in armor, paper skinned and argus-eyed,
remembering the days when evil was personified.
Step off the mountain, Moses,
baby, soothe us with your gaze.
I know that I’m not Jewish, but I like your holidays.

Pope Benedict, hey Benny, baby,
Throw the girls some beads;
your cardinals smoke reefer,
and your priests have special needs.
Those blessings you’ve been handing out
have really done some good,
just look how Charlton Heston
made it big in Hollywood.
Come out upon your balcony
and give your fans a sign.
I know I’m not a Catholic, but I always liked your wine.

Joe Smith, pal Joey,
you naughty little leader.
You weren’t much theologically
but wowie, what a breeder.
Your doctrine is so flexible,
your people are so keen,
your underwear’s mysterious,
and your cities, squeaky clean.
Come off your planet Joey, boy,
and show us that you care,
I know I’m not a Mormon, but I like the idea of having as many women as I want! Holy, cow, who wouldn’t like that? I mean, really, are you kidding me?
Good job.
Seriously.

Jesus, hey Jesus,
come calm us from above.
Remind these Chick-fellatiates
that you’re all about the love,
but your people tried to shoot me
‘cause I stole a loaf of bread
so I’m hiding in your altar
and I’ve covered up my head.
If you’re ever going to save me, Jesus,
this would be the place.
I know I’m not a Christian, but I always liked your face.

—Don Whittington

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