Conversations with a christian God...

I am the chief,
My will be done,
I am the only one.

I sit upon my throne,
Chewin' on a bag o' bones,
Of those who came along,
And those who have not yet gone.

Imma mean ol' brotha,
I shall not be bothered,
Otherwise with a black veil you'll be covered.

And then send down to.

That firey place below where those who defy me go,
I'm the wisest of the wise,
The badest of the bad, I'm all,
That you fear,
I am the beginnin',
But I'm also the end,
Imma tricky lil' chap my friend.

Truly yer a nobody,
In spite of who you try to be,
Ya behave cowardly never boldy,
Nor are ya as shiney,
And bright as gold, on the contrarie,
Yer a lil' S. O. B.

Yer a spoiled lil' sucka,
A tricky lil' fucka,
Wot's wrong with you is that you never had a motha,
To tell ya wot's right and wrong.

Truth is you should be the one who goes.

To that firey place below,
Where the most rotten of the rotten go,
Those who haven't got a soul.

They seek in ya warmth,
You giv'em cold,
Scenarios of pain and sorrow,
If those lil' bastards don't do as they're told,
Yer just a mean kid with a magnifying glass,
Burnin' all the ants, but mate yer losing the girphold,
Yer losing the griphold.