Satan at the Bat

[TC Patriot]

SATAN at the BAT

The outlook isn't brilliant for Americans today;
Most of them hate Jesus I am sad to say,
For all the little children it's a crying shame
Liberals, Wiccans homers are the ones to blame

A waddling herd of false Christians. The rest
Cling to that hope which springs eternal in a our Lord and Saviors breast;
We know, only miracle can get America back
By hitting the enemies of Christ with a nuclear attack




But alas Osambo's birth certificate is forged for goodness sake,
And a Negro in the White House really takes the cake;
So upon that stricken multitude they place another tax;
Placed upon the Godly one percent of over burdened backs.

There is this sleaze in Demoncrat's manner because he knows his place;
Is to tax and tax the Godly ones and put a smile on his face.
Responding to the jeers, he says, "Your reaction is quite odd.
Obama is your Deity. In other words, He's God."

Demoncrats are sneaky, arrogant and rude.
But watch out Satan's children Jesus is our dude.


We know he can destroy you all we're happy to report,
And in hell he will fling the Godless babies you abort.


From the realm of reality came a sane and godly voice,
That said that being a homer really was a choice.
Homers are not made homers by the nature of their genes
It cause the reject Jesus and cause they are so obscene

This trend towards sodomy is a moral failing;
A society without Jesus is weak and sick and ailing
Ask a homer why molests boys and he will tell a lie.
Ask him if he masturbates, it's something he'll deny.

"Fraud!" cried the maddened voice, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Godly Rush and the audience was awed.


"How dare anyone imply it is not their fault", an angry Rush roared!
"They sodomize because they are evil and do not love the Lord".

A sneer has fled from Rush's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence as he explains their fate.
And now some homer holds sign and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Rush's mighty blow.

Oh, somewhere in Homer Land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing disco, and somewhere loafers are light,
And somewhere priests are buggering, and little children scream;
But Jesus will return to end Satan's awful dream.

[Ezekiel Bathfire]

Re: Satan at the Bat

That needs setting to music Brother TCP!

[TC Patriot]

Re: Satan at the Bat

I am just a word guy but perhaps the folks are Westboro Baptist can set it to music. They're really good at that. Shirley Phelps and I Twitter. I am trying to talk some sense into her. She's so right about homers and so wrong about most everything else. I'll see what they can do with it. They are crazy but you can't deny their talent for song writing and we can't deny the fact that God hates fags.

[Pastor Ezekiel]

Re: Satan at the Bat

You might want to contact Brother Donnie Davies for some artistic consultaion. He is quite the little songster.

[TC Patriot]

Re: Satan at the Bat

Pastor, that was some Godly singing. Thanks for posting it.

YIC

TC

[Poetic Peter]

Re: Satan at the Bat

This is WONDERFUL, what you created with God's Divine Scripto Ink, above!
Great joy and animal sacrifices are in order. God will kindly strike me down now.

~

Finally, "Casey at the Bat" is, up above, made over into GODLY USEFUL morality-allegory,
accent on the latter syllable of "allegory". Gory. Good. God.

The original that must have been pre-inspired by God, into you, is reprinted below;
it is not nearly so brilliant as your masterstroke.

Here below, way below lies the original text of "Casey at the Bat",
for academic comparisons, only, because...

...JESUS STRIKES 'EM ALL OUT

________________________________________


from, courtesy of: http://ops.tamu.edu/x075bb/poems/casey.html


Casey at the Bat
By Ernest Lawrence Thayer Taken From the San Francisco Examiner - June 3, 1888


The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that —
We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat;
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt.
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped —
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted some one on the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said "Strike two!"

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out.