When Crowds swarm out doorways And The street-lamps are lit

One of my disciples

Begins his wandering

In alleys and Main streets He searches for men

The virile, pathetic and lame

Leading them in

To our establishment He starts to cry Every night

“Prostrate, supine Well groomed - divine! Whatever you like Please sir, tonight”

A brothel is a business no different than a bank As safe and as formal and sanitary

My girls all destined for hell

Or so says our priest

But find me a Christian

Who spends as much time on their knees!

Closer to god

They honour his glory In the best way Everyday

Without my aid they’d be in chains

Or disembowelled in a backstreet lane I’ll stop selling when you stop buying ‘Till the end of time you will hear the cry

“Prostrate, supine Well groomed - divine! Whatever you like Follow me tonight”