The gods are drunk on communion wine

Your pastors are filling them up.

Their prayers go to God, and Onyankopon.

Their incense is puffs from Oshun’s pipe.

There’s a long line of lost lives

And there’s a long queue of more Clients.

 

Your pastors are drunk on communion wine.

They can’t seem to bless you right

Their hands are flailing in the air, and they’re losing their footing

But all you can see is the spirit upon them.

They’re chanting Young Thug backwards on cue and you’re calling it tongues.

The body of Christ tastes like iron from all the jewels that adorns their fingers.

Their bedazzled chains are dragging them to the ground but you say they are down to earth .

You say the Light shines on them but its just the sun’s reflection on their gel slicked hair.

They anoint you with the blood of your murdered faith and hope

The same one that’s the hundred dollar Holy Oil

Blinding you to the truth

You, You lot are drunk on communion wine.

And I’m the sinner for telling you the truth.