With pupils fixed on the collection plate,
Sweat streaming down a wretched face,
And lethally distended neck veins,
He appealed to the sympathy of his victims,
“God wants us all to be rich!” he cried.
“Cast your bread upon the waters!” someone implored;
Maybe an accomplice, a friend or a fool.
“Amen!” shrieked a woman, lavishly dressed,
As she stutters like an old engine and crumbles to the floor.

Is it I alone who have seen this act,
The false prophet, the woman, and the fool,
All part of a ridiculous plot?
It's just another tale from the swindler’s script.
He echoes again the fib from his lips:
“God wants us all to be rich!”
Did Jesus wear Armani suits and ties,
And sandals made from crocodiles’ hide?
The crowd applauded the exaggerated stunt,
As he frolics, shivers and growls,
Like someone who’s drunk.
Remember the slogan that says: “In God we trust?”
Preserve this notion:
The poor will always be with us.