When crowds swarm out doorways
And the streetlamps are lit
One of my disciples
Begins his wandering
In alleys and the main streets
He searches for men
The virile, pathetic, and lame
Leading them in
To our establishment he starts to cry
Every night
"Prostrate, supine
Well-groomed, divine
Whatever you like
Please, sir, tonight"
A brothel is a business no different than a bank
As safe and as formal and sanitary
My girls all destined for Hell
Or so says our priest
But find me a Christian
Who spends as much time on their knees
Closer to God
They honor his glory in the best way
Everyday
Without my aid they'd be in chains
Or disemboweled in a backstreet lane
I'll stop selling when you stop buying
'Til the end of time you can hear the cry
"Prostrate, supine
Well-groomed, divine
Whatever you like
Please, sir, tonight
Follow me tonight"
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