From teaspoon verse dept, soul bean cafe.
Pope-mobile, pope-mobile, to me your car is hope-mobile
That’s how bad thing are.
What do you do back there, sitting on that chair?
A poo, perhaps, through the robes — plop!
Plop-mobile, plop-mobile, to me your car is a sop-mobile
That’s how sad things are.
What you doing waving there, you’re a museum, people stare.
Or a zoo-perhaps, behind the glass, like a hippo — poo, plop-plop… ahh!
Papal plop. Heave. No-one’ll see: this car’s made for your security.
You can poo but can you pee?
Pee-mobile, pee-mobile. To me you’re a wait-and-see mobile.
God bless America you say, bless them all unless they’re gay.
Gay-mobile. Gay-mobile. That’ll be your heyday imbecile.
Pimp your pope-mobile pink. Say it loud, I’m gay and I’m proud.
Pope-mobile, pope-mobile, you are the people’s dope mobile.
Does it turn into a hearse, though?
And couldn’t you have lent one to Bezanir Bhutto?