Milquetoast
Phony preacher man,
your doctrines are soft ...
of no eternal value
You peddle the pagan fluff,
sniffing the prosperity snuff,
gambling souls away with your holy bluff
False preacher man,
how eloquent you boast
But your doctrines are milquetoast
The doctrines of God are pure:
diamond hard like a rock
Holy Rock of our salvation,
a peculiar people is His holy nation
We demand hearing the truth,
we will not allow you to feed us lies
Dressing it up in disguise,
making abominable things appear so nice
Phony preacher man,
your doctrines are milquetoast soft ...
of no redemptive value
You never preach against the paradigms of sin,
but how could you?
You pushed your cow chips to the center,
and told the blackjack dealing demon you're all in
Selling out souls gives you the cheated win
Filthy lucre now stuffs your fat pockets,
as you greedily from the pulpit walk away
Apparently you never learnt,
that all toast gets burnt
when God rebukes thee on Judgment day
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