Who’s screechin’ touts from under much hairspray,
squallin, no shame, just “righteous” hot air?
Who bendin’ truth to lift lots of gained dough?
Everything’s faux in grift-preach.

Who’s rippin’ off folks, showing no pity,
wily, also extremely crafty?
Who’s screeching ’bout the Rapture, a faux ’vent?
Anything goes in grift-preach.

That grift-preach: engorged with lies;
each should win an acting prize.
The victims ain’t been apprised:
It’s bunk they shout
(their bunk is loud).
They’ll punk some clowns
and pile up mounds.

That grift-preach: a forger’s pride…
supercilious and snide.
The victims have been denied
what it’s about,
really about.
Drowned out by shouts
from con-job louts.

Who’s rippin’ off folks, maybe not witty,
tied to these liars who’re quite crafty?
Who means indeed to capture the dough “lent”?
Not paid back…sent to grift-preach.

Who’s rippin’ off folks, slickly and shifty,
lyin’ to everybody they reach?
Who’s leechin’ dupes when grafting they foment?
Dense are the schmoes of grift-preach.