Are back with the end of days,
They love to point out who God doesn’t like,
And nag us to change our ways.
Two thousand years of failed predictions,
Haven’t diminished their sell,
They still charm the hopeful by dangling Salvation,
The fearful by promising Hell.
Well, I’m gonna go and sit on the porch,
I’ll throw my ol’ dog a bone,
And count the hours till they fly off in Rapture,
And leave all us sinners alone.