We were just some guys who were down on their luck
We needed some cash, so we just wrote a book.
We all ‘knew’ Mary, so we gave her a part
She was far from a virgin, just some skinny tart.
We said she gave birth in a stable one night
Seriously though, who’d believe all this shite?
Her baby then had a visit from kings,
People believe the strangest of things.
An angel in the stable provided some light,
Whilst catholic priests phooked their flocks by night.
We thought a crucifixion would make people sad,
Essentially it’s a story about this bloke and his dad.
So we went to publishers and showed them the score
But most of the barstards just showed us the door.
But one in particular liked it and said
This book’s a winner, it’ll keep us well fed.
It’s an interesting story, it’s got a good plot
But I have to say, that believable it’s not.
This jesus bloke seems slightly insane
I don’t like his handle, but what’s in a name?
Ah, I see, he was killed on a cross
That’s no big deal, who gives a toss.
Some parts are sad, some parts are funny
This book, my dears, will make lots of money.
The first run of the book, sold in double-quick time
The people were queuing with no end to the line.
It made lots of money, the good life we tasted
We spent some money on whores and the rest we just wasted.
We had slaves and servants and graces and airs,
We didn’t give a toss, we were millionaires
We printed yet more books but they kept selling out,
We had no time left for just pissing about.
Then someone said, ‘I don’t give a phuck’,
‘I wish we’d not written this bleedin’ book’.
We were so pissed off with the damned fateful tome
That we switched off the presses and all phucked off home.
(And that’s when all the problems started)
I was at home screwing some whore,
When all sorts of people knocked on the door.
There were men dressed like women and looking right knobs,
They called themselves priest, they all wanted jobs.
The book tried to thrill, it tried to impress,
But how can you take seriously a man in a dress?
There were people cheering and running amok,
The phuckers were queuing right round the block.
When I first found out, I cared not one wit,
When I realised that people had swallowed our shit.
It was only a joke, this wasn’t planned,
We’d really phucked up, it’s got out of hand.
I told them Jesus of Nazareth, he doesn’t exist
We just made him up one night we got pissed
It’s a story about some knob-headed bloke
You’ve got to believe us, it was only a joke.
None of it’s real, we were taking the piss,
You can’t feed five thousand with five loaves and two fish!
The next thing we knew, we were in jail,
We’d been sentenced to hang and no chance of bail.
Were we to be punished for the shit in the book?
No. We were found guilty of some blasphemy phuck.
Please oh god, please make them desist,
Oh shit, just remembered, you don’t exist.