Say your prayers, little Dub,
And be sure you brush off…
All the things you hear of.
If you won’t, if you don’t,
You’ll be easy prey,
When the Apostate he comes.
Out there, cruelly waging his sneaky tight-pants crusade…
Be afraid… he’ll invade…
That’s his plan…
The Apostate Boogeyman!
x
Something’s wrong, shades of gray,
It’s been there all day,
But you stay anyway….
Full of lies, full of greed,
Mentally diseased,
And he’s probably gay…
Helping in Satan’s kitchen, cooking your faith away (wait, what?)…
Don’t wimp out… stifle doubt…
Thwart his plan...
The Apostate Boogeyman!
x
(killer guitar solo)
x
(spoken)
Now I know I am not free,
I pray they won’t disfellowship me,
If I complain of child abuse,
I know they’ll quickly cut me loose…
x
(sung)
Hush, little Witness, don’t say a word,
And never mind that stuff you heard…
It’s just the fear he might be right,
Instead of doctrine or New Light!
x
It’s the Truth… don’t need proof…
Sleight of hand (hey, wait a minute)…
Close your ears… hide your fears...
Shit, meet Fan…
Your Apostate Boogeyman!
x
(dedicated to Anthony Morris III)