Jesus Poetry Slam

Today's feature: The Jesus poetry slam!

Whoooee, mama, looka that boy!
He swaggerin down the holler.
Got a black hole in his pants
you bet your bottom dollar!

His head's a mighty vector field
Like Mexican TV
And all the zombies stand aside
When he commence to pee! 

He pulled the plow, he tossed the seed
He painted Hooleys barn
Paid off all the nuisance liens
Laid up on Gomer's farm 

The gals, they look him up and down
As he go struttin by
He keeps em guessin, wonderin
He gay, or straight or bi? 

It's Jesus, ma, it's Jesus Christ!
He comin by this way!
Grab the shotgun, get your coat
Ain't got no time to pray. 

If you come to the holler, boy
just ain't no way to please us
Cause folks here still rememberin
That time we had with Jesus!

Tater Gumfries

Jesus was the local pimp,
They called him "Jeezie Sweet"
And all the women fell on Him
When Jesus was in heat. 

He wore a feather in His hat,
A gold cane in His hand,
And no-one ever doubted that
Ole Jesus was the man 

He had a flock of bitches
Each one finer than the last
And they swarmed around His britches
Whenever He came strutting past 

One day a drifter came to town,
But clearly didn't know,
You just don't ever mess around
With Jesus' favorite ho. 

He met her in a motel six,
His purpose was to lay her,
He shot his wad and wiped his dick
But then he wouldn't pay her. 

When suddenly, a lightning flash
A blast of twanging harp,
And Jesus beat that suckas ass,
And did it looking sharp. 

So if you're here on Jesus' streets,
Be on your best behavior,
The folks may call Him Jeezie Sweet,
But don't fuck with the savior.



I like Jesus, and He likes me
We both like drinking, as you can plainly see
I break bread while He turns water into wine
And I drink His blood, and He drinks mine. 

Some may call us vampires, others call us queer
But my cup runneth over with my favorite brand of beer
Sometimes I have whiskey while He is drinking rye
And while I'm in the Spirit, I don't care if I die. 

You know he died upon the Cross just for you and me
Next time you take Communion, remember what it be
The blood of Jesus Christ my friend, it's really cause to think
Why, just the thought of His torment is driving me to drink. 


His blood like wine cascaded, and from His wounds it fell
And if there was no whiskey, then life would sure be Hell
So a toast I must propose to God's Remote Control;
I fill my tank with heaven's fuel, and Jesus steers my soul. 

Now man don't live by bread alone, but he sure can by beer
And when the ghost of Jesus fills me I forget my fear
There is no job no pain no boss no cop no wife no strife
But just ecstatic drunkenness with Jesus in my life. 


Some say that I'm a slave to booze and call me things profane
God, thanks for making whiskey and driving them insane
Come time for the Apocalypse I'll be at His right hand
And just in case of Rapture, my car will be unmanned. 

So if you're rich or sinful, or if you do not drink,
I do not think you wise my friend, in fact I think you stink
And if you think that I'm a fool I do not wish you well,
And if you don't believe in Jesus you will go to Hell. 

REFRAIN with feeling 

Copyright 1978 by Douglass St. Clair Smith

The Jesus I know is the one i never Knew,
raised devoid of him and his 12 man crew,
i had friends who were raised the Jeeziest,
Instead i found myself born of Athiest.

Inquisitive i must not have been,
for i was well past the age of ten,
before i though about why i'm here,
and it was a thought with little fear. 

though upon meeting his zellots,
soffen with wine and bread pellets,
they told to me their special word,
and lo i was baffled at what i heard. 

You see that Jesus to me up to this point,
looked sorta like a hippy without a joint,
i never understood what role he had,
so I asked my dear old grand dad. 

"Jeezus Christ, it's all a sham,
for brain washing for your fellow man,
to make you feel bad when your drunk,
now go mow the lawn you stupid punk!" 

So all Jesus gave me was yard work,
even so- i don't think that he's a jerk,
however i can't see him as the boss,
because he never got the point a cross. 

Rev. Panik EVlynn Bedlam

The sun set over the ghetto
and the bums prepared for bed.
The wind blew over the dumpsters
where the hoes were giving head.

There wasn’t a cop on the streets that night;
the dealers had free reign,
When up through the hood in a Cadillac,
“CRUCIFIED” license plate on the back,

Jesus came driving dressed all in black,
And ready to bring the pain.
He brandished a whip of shining hide,
skinned from a golden calf,

THUG LIFE tattooed on each clenched fist,
and the roar of a holy laugh.
He rolled with a posse of angry bikers,
all of them armed to fight

And in the bodegas they whispered low,
Of epic incursions of long ago,
And just about everyone had to know
Who Jesus had come to smite.

He cruised through the alley in flowing robes,
walked over the pools of pee,
And waved a hand over crackhead mob,
parting them like the sea

A hush fell over the pool hall,
tension crackled in the air,
“Listen up, bitches,” He called out loud
Over the frightened and sinful crowd,
“Which of you fuckers can tell Me how
My birthday sucks every year?"

The shaken crowd gasped at His inquiry,
as nobody could deny,
The trees and the egg nog and songs
and shit were getting a little dry

He shook a fist at the money lenders
and gamblers with their dice,
"There isn't a lot that I ever ask,
But every year Christmas just seems to pass
Without so much as a little ass
In exchange for My sacrifice".

And sure as a crackhead will steal your shit,
the scales dropped from their eyes,
They saw that the presents and all of it,
were naught but a pack of lies.

The hookers and freaks and the gimps and beasts
assembled a motley horde,
All fell to their knees and got good and moist,
And everyone sang with a single voice,
"Oh gather together and let's rejoice,
And give it up for the Lord."