Ground shakes—it starts with an earthquake. . .
Yeah, it’s the same old refrain.
Heaven duper getting paid.

Lies from a burn-’em man—when are they gonna learn?
Publicity he needs; on go his worthless screeds.
Feeding fools this slop. . .eating it up.
No rapture coming. Capture the fear and fright—that’s right.

Why’re these liars and leeches taken seriously
When they just conspire to bleed myrmidons’ money?
So, out the acolytes scurry to ensure the
Schemers get the check.

Scheme by scheme, reports of rapture, dumb senseless crock.
Look and use their brains? Try ken?
Oh no, dolts bend low, Revelation-seek, this troop.
Believe it’s true. Save yourself; saved-up wealth,
To it adieu; gave your pelf, shamed yourself.

World serves its own needs. . .here long after we leave,
But not in a rapture—once again the guy ain’t right.
Blight apocalyptic. . .flock o’ dimwits can’t fight trite shite. . .
Ain’t gonna take flight.

“It’s the end of the world!” go the nitwits.
“It’s the end of the world. . .know the minute!!
It’s the end of the world!!!”
No, it isn’t.
There’s no “end times.”

Got it down to the hour when we end in a fire shower
That will burn who spurn the burns-firma worms who earn
A bunch from the uninformed who ain’t learning, ain’t kenning
That the motive of these fakes is move in and money-take.

Fright they dangle right in front of sense-drowned dense clowns
With appeals to their benighted beans,
Stoke fear rapture’s here, heaven waits, bier’s near.
It turns out that, it turns out that, it turns out that this guy’s
Often drawn conclusions about when the world would end. . .
And wrong each time.

“It’s the end of the world!” go the dimwits.
“It’s the end of the world. . .know the minute!!
Time after time, “predictions” blown.
“It’s the end of the world. . .know the minute!
It’s the end of the word!. . .wait a minute—
Not the end of the world;
His prediction
Right the next time, fire next time!!”

We’re still alright. . .no fire, continental drift divide,
Mountains are still aligned. Hellish burn? Nein!
(Non, nyet, no, neen!).
Geography’s fit; zany crew emptied the bank,
Got foolhardy, bought billboards crying, “DOOM!”
Those idiotic, plain psychotics scammed—those checks write, write!

“It’s the end of the world!” go the clipped hicks.
“It’s the end of the world!!” Ain’t eclipsed, hicks.
Time after time, “predictions blown.
“It’s the end of the world. . .know the minute!
It’s the end of the word!”. . .every minute.*
“It’s the end of the world!!!”
No, it isn’t.
Wrong every time; cleansed of dimes.


*“There’s a sucker born every minute.”—attributed to P.T. Barnum