Standing behind the microphone is a pack of hungry hyaenas,
Ready to gnaw the flesh of their impeccable followers,
Sunday is their favourite market day,
A day of harvest, when the plains are greener than ever,

Hiding behind shallow learnedness of the scriptures,
They prolong divine hours through loud praise music,
New members still wandering around wondering,
They get pinned to the walls, to produce member-ship fee,

Unending long term projects has strangled their followers pockets,
Draining their hungry stomachs to extreme ends,
In the name of holy heavenly powers,
They steal from the poverty stricken members,

Seated at the front of the enormous congregation,
They adjust their blazers counting their blessings,
As the deacons walk around collecting the silver plates,
That’s why i don’t listen to The Pulpit Scavangers!