Christianity And The Church

 

 

 

 

Well, it’s Sunday morning
and someone said to me,
“Why aren’t you in church
celebrating Christianity?”

I sat and thought a spell,
and I poured myself a drink.
I said, “Church ain’t about love,
It’s got less than what you think.

It ain’t about paying tithes
or listening to the word.
It ain’t about the preacher man
or his hypocritical herd.

Christianity and the church
thanks to man are now obscene,
how can the Lord’s work
get done by those who are unclean?

The Reverend, just last night,
pinched me on my ass!
And a married man is he,
but he pinched me, bold as brass.

Guess where the married deacon was,
and I’ll give you a little hint.
He was on his knees all night,
giving head to a well-hung gent.

Now, I’m not one to judge
and I sin and come up short,
but church folk revile the devil,
when with him, they do cavort.

No, I’ll not be sitting in church
with those good ole Christian folk.
Just a taking in a scripture or two,
’cause it’s all just one big joke.

Now let me tell you something,
drive by the local motel,
on any Saturday night
and see the Christians reveling like hell.

Then on Sunday morning,
they’re all so pious and calm.
And then next Saturday night,
they ain’t thinking ’bout the 23rd psalm.

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2018 Shelby I. Courtland

“Jesus! A Minute Of Your Time!”

Some nights, when I cannot fall asleep,
I do not ask the Lord my soul to keep.
Once I believed, but I do not believe anymore.
He never heals the sick or feeds the poor.

His ‘holy’ men just take the tithes from fools,
who by rights should get a refund from their schools,
for believing in a fairytale of such bull,
and pretending that an empty cup is full.

If I once believed in God, that ship has sailed,
nor can I pray to a man they say was nailed.
For if they did exist, why have they ignored the cries
of all the ‘holy men’ who spout tall tales and lies?

Their brainwashed flock, they will believe,
those who get paid to lie, con and deceive.
And who promise that the sick will all be healed
and that Blacks will not be jailed or shot and killed.

Next Sunday, look at the picture on the wall.
Kneel before it and in a deep, southern drawl,
say, “Jesus, a minute of your time!”
“Why is Black skin at the scene of every crime?”
“What wrong did we ever do to you,
“that would make you hate us for it too?”
 “I listen to your word, oh Lord on high!”
 “So once again, I have to ask you why?”
 “If you exist, and there really is no sign,
at how much evil, will you finally draw the line?”

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2016 Shelby I. Courtland