When crowds swarm out doorways
And the streetlamps are lit
One of my disciples begins his wandering
In the alleys, in 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

Copyright: DOMINO PUBLISHING COMPANY
Writer(s): Cameron Overeynder, Geordie Wade Greep, Morgann George Simpson