The Defence

When crowds swarm out doorways And the streetlamps are lit One of my disciples begins his wandering In the alleys, in the main streets He searches for men The virile, pathetic and lame Leading them in to our establishment, he starts to cry Every night Prostrate, supine Well-groomed, divine Whatever you like Please sir, tonight A brothel is a business no different than a bank As safe and as formal and sanitary My girls all destined for hell Or so says our priest But find me a Christian who spends as much time on their knees Closer to God, they honor his glory in the best way Everyday, without my aid they'd be in chains Or disemboweled in a backstreet lane I'll stop selling when you stop buying 'Til the end of time you can hear the cry Prostrate, supine Well-groomed, divine Whatever you like Please sir, tonight Follow me tonight