Church of Bad Religion – Monte Wolverton

Church of Bad Religion
Monte Wolverton
(To the tune of Hotel California,
with apologies to the Eagles) 
On a bright Sunday morning, 
Warm wind in my hair,
Smell of coffee and donuts
Rising up through the air,
Up ahead in the distance 
Stood a building of mortar and brick.
The sermon title on the sign told me
I should repent right quick.
There he stood in the doorway
I heard the steeple bell
And I was thinking to myself,
This could keep me out of hell.
Then he gave me a program
And he showed me a seat,
The praise band was singing,
I thought I heard them repeat…
Welcome to the church of bad religion
Such a holy place—a hotel for saints.
There’s plenty of works at the church of bad religion.
Such a sacred space—but you won’t find grace.
His mind is prophecy-twisted;
He says the Rapture’s next week.
He says it’s in the Bible
 ‘Cause he thinks that he knows Greek.
He’s made the same prediction 
A hundred times before,
While he was “slain in the spirit,” 
And lying on the floor.
So I went to the altar
To get my bread and wine
And he said, “Be here every Sunday
Or you’re gonna get left behind.”
And still the praise band is singing from far away.
Wake you up in the middle of the sermon
Just to hear them say…
Welcome to the church of bad religion
We can give you health, we can give you wealth
Obey all the rules at the church of bad religion.
Don’t you compromise! Bring us all your tithes!
Jumbotrons from the ceiling,
But not a whole lot about Christ,
And a woman said, “We are all just prisoners here
Of our own device.”
And in the pastor’s study
They tally up the take.
He drives a brand new Porsche
And his Rolex is not fake!
Last thing I remember, 
I was running for the door.
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before.
“Relax,” said the deacon,
You are commanded to believe.
We can disfellowship you whenever we like,
But you can never leave!
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