Each Sunday morning you'll be talking on TV,
Telling me I've gone astray,
But I can still be saved for just a modest fee.
Can I mail a check to cancel all my sin?
Will that make everything OK?
I'll show Saint Peter my receipt, and he'll let me in.
Week after week you say I need to give you more,
Just as much as I can pay.
But didn't Someone tell us "Blessed are the poor"?
You think that money is a blessing from on high.
Have you forgotten what they say
About a camel passing through a needle's eye?
You say that good things are sure to come my way
For every donation, wait and see.
But all those good things seem to come to you, not me.
You're telling me that Jesus wants you to be rich
'Cause that's the life for which you pray.
Between you and Lucifer I can't tell which is which.
You're asking me to send you every cent I've got.
How will it feel on Judgment Day
When you find you're headed where it's always hot?
And you're going there to stay.