There you go, once again, rushing off to make a blunder,
Only if you knew, anything at all.
No, you’d rather steer close to religion,
That’ll do you well, you mindless Neanderthal.
And yet it is I who feels this fluster,
Though it is they who haven’t a wonder,
Of truth and this and that and this,
A Holy Book remains amiss,
Not I, the wicked sinner,
I’ve got my own judge to contemplate,
He’d call me a winner.
So do not be so kind now,
I see the trick of your trade,
Keep your God-forsaken charity,
I won’t be caught in your charade,
Just yesterday you spent away
the commerce you had earned,
On all the vanities and vices
you swore would have me burned!