Arafed man in a mexican costume with a hat and a plate of fruit

Preacher, why you trying to scare me? Stop trying to trip us with guilt we know you're fucking your secretary My hats off congrats on your elaborate scheme I ain't even mad you bought a Cadillac with my tithes and offerings All the prophets and disciples they all knew the truth Not a thing will get you higher than the labors of our fruits Ain't nothing closer to the heavens than some cocaine and some booze We can all just stop pretending cuz all the bad things oh they make me feel so good

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