“Wine and whiskeyleave my people in a stupor.They ask questions of a dead tree,expect answers from a sturdy walking stick.Drunk on sex, they can’t find their way home.They’ve replaced their God with their genitals.They worship on the tops of mountains,make a picnic out of religion.Under the oaks and elms on the hillsthey stretch out and take it easy.Before you know it, your daughters are whoresand the wives of your sons are sleeping around.But I’m not going after your whoring daughtersor the adulterous wives of your sons.It’s the men who pick up the whores that I’m after,the men who worship at the holy whorehouses—a stupid people, ruined by whores!