It's eleven a.m. on any typical Sunday
& folks who believe that they'll live again one day
go to their place of worship to help pay the bills
of a Minister somewhere who might fit the bill
of Minister Sinister & his Deacons of Dreams
proof that all that you see isn't all that it seems
His neck filled with platinum, his fingers with gold
& a new pair of gators protecting his soles
A cape covered his garment from his head to his feet
& the aura around him expensively sweet
with a silk under laying & a smile that could bring
the faithful to donate there last every thing
He looks at his followers & smiles with delight,
knowing their money will be his tonight
He's Minister Sinister, in his long limousine
On the strip slowly cruising to find the obscene
But be that it may, Sunday morning you'll find
He'll be there in his place in an outfit divine
Bringing all to their feet with his raised gold clad hands
So the Deacons of Dreams can come out with the pans
While your pockets are open & easy to reach
& the more your donation, the harder he'll preach
Then he'll raise gold clad hands & everyone sits
& he waits to see just how much money he gets
then the clerk thanks the people after the count
for a Sunday donation of enormous amount
But Minister Sinister again raises his hands
Every one sees it, but nobody stands
Just his way of saying he's something to share
Of someone bed ridden or in need of care
Who always depends on the church to be there.
"I must feed my twelve kids, after all I'm a daddy,
& payment is due on that shinny new Caddy,
so bless you for giving" he said with a grin
as the Deacons of Dreams pass the pans round again.
He's pleased with the giving & it shows in his preaching.
He bounces & dances & shouts as he teaching
& calls up the faithful to join his disciples
& everyone's shouting, it's more then an eyeful
They dance without music, as if in a trance
Or still drunk from last night at the Elk's Club dance
They bring out the oils, to anoint their new flock
Which was olive oil from that small store down the block
But they say it's anointed, they say it does heal
Its good to bake chicken, that's just how I feel,
But he'd touch them & they'd flop around like a chicken
Shaking & rolling there eyes back & kicking.
People were now lining up to be next
To be under his spell, his guidance, his hex.
The ushers catch each as they drop to the ground,
& some lie on the floor still just kicking around.
They roll up in wheelchairs begging for healing
But Minister Sinister looses that feeling.
Before he gets to them he has to sit down,
But make sure you come see him next time he's in town.
He sits back in his chair sweating, waiting for water
& for the deacons to get the precession in order.
But he now finds the strength to again raise his hands
& the flock quickly rise to their feet in the stands.
He wants all of the faithful to come shake his hand
& leave a donation in one of the pans, placed on two tables
both of them manned & they'll both try to get all you got if they can
Then it's back in your seat while they read of the minutes
& tell Minister Sinister what the kitty has in it
then the call for new members is brought to a close
& again his hands lifted & again up they rose
he gives benediction & he says from his heart,
"work hard & prosper, till I'm back in these parts".
