Presbyterian/Baptist War

Abe wears his sunglasses at night
So that he can see
The glare from the moon is too much
After drinking 15 Jack and Pepsi's

He staggers through the woods
Lookin' for his horse named Silver
That blasted liquor is too hard
It's makin' his liver quiver

He bumps into his horse
His horse bumps him back
He then delivers a haymaker
He hears Silver's neck go crack

Great, he's done killed his ride
He has to go home on foot
He decides to stay out later
He then goes to Ford's theater

Now you know
The rest of the story
Don't drink Jack and Pepsi
You just might find out
"You are the father!" from Maury

WORD!!!

Those drunken bums!!!

The Presby spots the Baptist
Sneakin' across the battlefield
He thinks this will be the easiest
Baptist he has ever killed

He puts the Baptist in his sights
He slowly releases his breath
But before he can squeeze the hammer
Someone blew out his pilot light

Another Baptist had taken a Presby captive
He forced him to be a decoy
He used his own man against him
Snuck behind him and put an end to him boys

Bring me the harp!
Bring me the lyre!
Put the Baptist in my tarp
And throw him in the fire!

"But sir!" says my underling
"He'll put the fire out!"
"The Baptist won't drink Yeungling
What's more his body's stout!"

My boy, you have a point
And now I am nonplussed
The plan has lost its joint
I've lost the pastor's trust

"We could convert him."
Said the noble servant
"Let's make his senses spin
Uncork the Glendffadant"

We cannot do that either, son
Throw him in the truck
That or make him run
We took him from potluck

Presbyterian and Baptist
They're really quite the same.
They read from the same bible,
only difference is their name.

Mourn for the Baptist children
For they're not truly saved
Their parents fail to dunk them
The horde of dispy knaves

Gaze at their skin so dry
See those dirty faces
Their arms cleaned with lye
To stave off water's traces

Now the Presby children
Who swim like Michael Phelps
Needing no assistance
No need of adult help

They age twenty years in two
Have bodies like the gods
Their aim is always true
They never eat tide pods

What is our secret?
Ask the Baptist swine
Bring them home a pet
And communion wine

In the fields of Flanders
To the rubble of Saigon
We'll find the Baptist Rhymers
And show them how they're wrong

Behold my Westminster Catechism
How it eats London's Confession
Thank God for our deep schism
For it aids the Great Commission

Here is a fact for your understanding
Forget the blood spilled at Pusan
Forget the Inchon landing

Long before MacArthur
Long before the Trappists
Presbys seized Korea
Where were those lazy Baptists?

At a potluck.

Presbys forever
Hurrah boys, Hurrah
Down with the Baptists
They dress like Jamie Farr

In Flanders Fields where poppies grow
Where casualties of war must go.
That fight a war that must be won,
While Catholic friends have all the fun.

That's the spirit, Tourist!

Yes, this was intended to be a fight between Sovy and me, but step forth if ye feel the call to battle!

Shake off these old debates!
Forget the Modalists!
Leave the Catholics to their fates
And tilt me in the lists!

Presbys prep for war
They don their battle gear
They aim for their heads
But hit’em in their rears

Too much liquor
Too much wine
They won’t drink water
Jack and Jim will do just fine

Baptists show restraint
They know their limit
Presbys slam it down
Drink a barrel in a minute

Pass around the booze
Pass around the grog
They drink so much
They begin licking frogs

Getting back to war
Not wanting to go astray
The Presbys all donned
In their battle array

Their array looks splendid
They look look like winners
They soon will be in the ground
Nothing but worms’ dinner

WORD!!!

Those drunken bums!!!

Presby's, Baptists, Catholics,
Pentecostals, Apostolics

We could all be alcoholics
We can all eat from a pot
We could speak in tongues
We could swing from the choir loft

Why battle one another
O'er a battle of so little
When our King is the same
Known by many names

I will put on my dry pants
I will relax in my chair
Eating my bag of popcorn
as I chuckle at your rants




Im glad that among the differences we have, there are those who can unite in fellowship in laughter and our common factor... Jesus' love. Hard to find at times....even on CC.

Lighthearted decided
To jump in the fray
She thinks she’s Marilyn Monroe
But she’s closer to Nanette Fabray

I don’t know her beliefs
Don’t know if she’s orthodox
But one thing I know
Des looks like an ox

Des eats a banana
Chews on some bread
He swigs the booze
He forgets he’s on meds

All who wish
Can join our song and dance
But don’t get mad
When I kick you in the pants

wait...I'll put my wet ones back on....lol

Sov says I'm an ox
For he knows my strength
My biceps are as rocks
Legs of unmeasured length

From miles far afield
I can smell his rancid stench
With banana peeled
I stride 'cross his Baptist trench

Lighthearted is correct
Our King watches from on high
In this battle of elect
He chooses who will die

"Love one another"
The squeamish misinterpret
For one can love a brother
and correct his evil spirt

Reproof takes many shapes
On foot and in the saddle
Baptists sail to heav'nly capes
When I best them in wordy battle

A kick in the pants
A poke in the eye
A punch to the gut
A kick to the thigh

Presbys like to play by the rules
They act like gentlemen
But Baptists play it dirty
They attack one presby with ten

The presby looking like
A clone of Pee Wee Herman
He sings like a screeching owl
Thinking he sounds like Ethel Merman

In closing, this I will say
The Presby thinks he looks
Like a dapper Dan
But really looks like an aged Mermaid Man

WORD!!!

Those drunken bums!!!

When I said you look like an ox
I did not misquote myself
Because you share the same IQ
With that ox & a box of rocks

The ox e’er uses his brawn
But ne’er his brain
He stays in his master’s path
Always his master’s pawn

He works for stable & oats
From daylight to dark
Rain, sunshine, hail, and wind
In his master he gloats

In the closing of this slam
I say this to my foe
I drop the mic
After I say ‘bam!’

WORD!!!

Those drunken bums!!!

Baptist ranks arrive
They are to be admired
If for better form you do not strive
And hope for a spare tire

As in the days of Philip
On ground surrounding Athens
Or under his heir's stirrup
When the seas churned in their fathoms

See there the Phalanx of the Baptist
A wall of brass locked as one
Spears out to brew a crimson tempest
Iron gleaming in the sun

Mountains tremble in their cadence
Boots rock the halls of Dis
Abandon hope ye in defense!
Fate's ring you soon shall kiss

But look closer gentle onlooker!
A sorrier host you have not seen
Since the days of General Hooker
Or a show with Charlie Sheen

Put away those thoughts of mutiny
Run not to your huts
For Baptists embrace gluttony
Those mighty shields are guts

How likewise we would thunder
With plunging heavy gate
If our buckles stayed asunder
From nights of hostess out-of-date

Rally boys rally
Hold to neither skill nor pluck
They'll all have heart attacks
If we feed them a potluck

Baptists like potluck
Presbys love booze
In the Baptist/Presby war
The drunkards are gonna lose

We love chicken casserole
We love dumplings, too
Feed us anything chicken
We go and act the fool

Presby look frail and gaunt
Their diet very questionable
When all you consume in Jim & Jack
You can see their spine poking out their back

We die from obesity
Presbys from liver disease
We die arm in arm
All covered with fleas