toughlove
02-11-2008, 10:45 AM
Holler for dollars, you hypocrite
You lie when you tell us that Jesus was rich
This Man of Sorrows with nowhere to sleep
Is used as an excuse to fleece God’s sheep.
You raise your voice in loud rebuke
Where’s the cash for the new vestibule?
How will we landscape the new Sunday School?
The mortgage payment is coming due.
There’s plenty of pockets out in those pews
Starry-eyed lumps staring up at you
They soak up all your great glad news
Those who pay dues are the ones God will choose.
Saints who don’t pay are only dead weight
Unwilling to die for Jesus’ sake
Tithe on the net or life will get gross
You’ll lose out with God and die without hope.
TV time costs an arm and a leg
Don’t make our dear Savior grovel and beg
We’ve cut back on our salary
The Rice Bowl fund is nearly empty.
So sell your tour to the Holy Land
Gold-plate religion to make it look grand
Multiple mansions and fleets of Mercs
Finance God’s work but not with YOUR perks.
You’ve lived wantonly upon the earth
You’ve fattened your already bursting purse.
You’ve filled up your sins for the Judgment Day
You’ve trampled upon God’s loving grace.
You rant and you roar to try to get more
You rob the widow and steal from the poor
Your altar is spread with their plundered bread
Your favorite curses will fall on your head.
A millstone is tied around your neck
Those vows you’ve devoured are on your paycheck
Those souls you’ve hurt with the following words
Tithe or you’ll die cut off from our church.
Christ will spew you out of His mouth
You won’t go up when He gives the shout
You wouldn’t find heaven so sweet and fair
You’d think it was hell, no money’s up there.
* * * * *
http://banpreachergreed.tripod.com
You lie when you tell us that Jesus was rich
This Man of Sorrows with nowhere to sleep
Is used as an excuse to fleece God’s sheep.
You raise your voice in loud rebuke
Where’s the cash for the new vestibule?
How will we landscape the new Sunday School?
The mortgage payment is coming due.
There’s plenty of pockets out in those pews
Starry-eyed lumps staring up at you
They soak up all your great glad news
Those who pay dues are the ones God will choose.
Saints who don’t pay are only dead weight
Unwilling to die for Jesus’ sake
Tithe on the net or life will get gross
You’ll lose out with God and die without hope.
TV time costs an arm and a leg
Don’t make our dear Savior grovel and beg
We’ve cut back on our salary
The Rice Bowl fund is nearly empty.
So sell your tour to the Holy Land
Gold-plate religion to make it look grand
Multiple mansions and fleets of Mercs
Finance God’s work but not with YOUR perks.
You’ve lived wantonly upon the earth
You’ve fattened your already bursting purse.
You’ve filled up your sins for the Judgment Day
You’ve trampled upon God’s loving grace.
You rant and you roar to try to get more
You rob the widow and steal from the poor
Your altar is spread with their plundered bread
Your favorite curses will fall on your head.
A millstone is tied around your neck
Those vows you’ve devoured are on your paycheck
Those souls you’ve hurt with the following words
Tithe or you’ll die cut off from our church.
Christ will spew you out of His mouth
You won’t go up when He gives the shout
You wouldn’t find heaven so sweet and fair
You’d think it was hell, no money’s up there.
* * * * *
http://banpreachergreed.tripod.com