Let's Chant!!!

Put on your red shoes and dance the blues       Get out your black robe and Dorian mode
to the song they're playin' on the radio.       for the song they're singin' at the Monastery.
While color lights up your face,                While candles burn flame orange and blue
sway through the crowd to any empty space.      process down the aisle to an empty pew.

If you say run I run with you,                  If they say sing, I'll sing with you.
and if they say hide, you'll hide.              And if they say quiet, . . . 

because my love for you                         and boy we love to sing, 
would break my heart in two.                    but the melody's the thing.
If you should fall, into my arms,               If we should sin, genuflect again,
and tremble like a flower.                      and start to sing all over!!!


Gallican!  Mozarabic!  Ambrosian!  Sarum!  
Byzantine!  Gregorian!  Everybody Chant!

Like all great chanters in history,
who chanted with all their might,
Ambrose, Hermann, Hilary,
chanting through the night.
They prayed in song and piety,
chanting to get their kicks,
Augustine, Benedict, and Gregory,
chanted 'cause they couldn't have chicks

Let's chant!

If you're going to chant you've got to know your modes!

Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian, 
Mixolydian, Aeolian, Locrian, Everybody Chant!!
Let's chant!!


Chant as you are
      as a priest
      as god wants you to be    
      as a monk
      as a monk
      inner peace you will see   
      as a man
      of the cloth
      God's the boss you will be
      singing notes
      Bible quotes
      checking motes in your eyes, 
      with heavenly ties,
      live with guys,
      get real wise.

Chant morn and night,
      in your robes you will kneel 
      on the floor
      knees get sore
      be real poor
      but you'll sing  
      no harmony
      just melody

All this energy and I don't have a wife
                 no I   "    "   "  "
                yes I   "    "   "  "


Vow of poverty  and I don't have a wife
                 no I   "    "   "  "
                 no I can't  "   "  "
                yes I   "    "   "  "
                Pope won't let me have wife


Cowboys ain't easy to love              Monks ain't easy to love
  and they're harder to hold              and they're always so broke.
they'd rather give you a song           They'd rather give you forgiveness
  than diamonds or gold.                  than tell you a joke.
Lonestar belt buckles and               Belts made of ropes
  old faded Levis and                     and robes made of burlap,
  each night begins a new day.            and chanting from break of day.
If you don't understand him             If you try to get him
  and he don't die young,                 to go have some fun,
  he'll prob'ly just ride away.           he'll prob'ly just go sing and pray.

Momma don't let your babies             Mommas don't let your babies
  grow up to be cowboys                   grow up to be priests.
Don't let 'em pick guitars and          Don't let 'em go to seminary and
  drive them old trucks,                  then become monks,
  let 'em be doctors 'n lawyers 'n such.  let 'em be rock stars or Rabbis or punks.
Mommas - - - - -                        Mommas - - -
'Cause they'll never stay home and      'Cause they never go out and
  they're always alone,                   they're so darned devout, and
  even with someone they love.            there's only one One they love.

Cowboys like smokey ol' poolrooms       Monks like smokey old incense
  and clear mountain mornin's.            and gruel in the morning.
Little warm puppies and children        Chanting for hours and beating
  and girls of the night.                 themselves with small whips.
Them that don't know him won't          Those folks that know them know
  like him and them that do               they like communion and
  sometimes won't know how to take him.   take it with smiles on their lips.
He ain't wrong he's just different,     They take it each morning,
  but his pride won't let him do          (more often at times), and
  things to make you think he's right.    take it in not so small sips!


Now look at them monks.
That's the way you do it.
You sing the chants down at the monastery.
That ain't workin'.
That's the way you do it.
Heaven for nothin', 
and your wine for free.

Now that ain't workin'.
That's the way you do it.
Lemme tell you them priests ain't dumb.
Maybe get some blisters on our knees.
Maybe get a bilster on your palm.

We gotta teach these inner city kids.
Wear these habits, this hair, Jeez!!!
We gotta feed the poor and the hungry.
We gotta live our lives on our knees.

See that silly monk with the hood and the robe.
Bald on the top with a little ring o' hair.
That little monk gets to talk to the Pope!!
That little monk, it just ain't fair!

We gotta teach these ...

I should'a been born a boy.
I coulda' gone to the seminary.
Look at that monk, prayin' at the altar.
His head is bald, but his face is hairy.
and Up there, what's that?  Bells and incense.
Waivin' them around for all to see.
That ain't working, that's the way you do it.
Get to heaven for nothin' and your wine for free.

Heaven for nothin. . .. .


Chant real fast and chant real loud.
Chant real fast and chant real loud.
Chant real fast and chant real loud 'cause it 
makes folks nervous and
        keeps 'em away from our
                camps in the woods where we
                        chant and train and
                                beat our kids.

Buy up guns and stockpile weapons for the
day when they come to
        collect back taxes and
                make us move and
                        throw us in jail.


Here it comes out from the kitchen,
this evening's bowl of gruel.
So it's not right to sit here bitchin'.
I'm supposed to be God's tool.
We eat it nearly every evening.
If we're lucky it is warm.
I look at it and feel like heavin'.
What's that thing?  I hope it's corn.

Jesus wants us to live humbly,
but he was there in Isreal.
Jesus tread the Med'terrainean,
eating grapes and olive oil.

Why can't we have a burger.
Don't think I can go further.
Why can't I have a large fry.
One more bowl of gruel and I'll die.

I am just a worthless Monk.
I am just a man of God,
but I'd sure like to have some meat.
A piece of liver, maybe cod.
I would crawl to MacDonald's,
One hundred miles on my knees.
I would even go to Wendy's,
White Castle, Carl's, or Burger King.

Mother Mary won't you whisper
something to the brother cook?
Mother Mary talk to him,
at least get him to use a book!

Why can't we call out to Domino's?

Else I think I might vomit. Oh!!
What harm is one small pizza?
No veggies, all the meats!! Oh, God.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
[Bonus unreleased Director's Cut.
Inspired by the life of Michael Jackson,
  and various controversial theories
    about the sexuality of the disciples,

There he follows just behind me,
crowding every step I take,
tempting me to act unholy.
Innocent his little face.
Waiting like a little puppy.
Looks up to me like a dad.
Tempting me to act unholy.
God help me, I'll do something bad.

Jesus must have had such thoughts.
Maybe acted upon them.
Jesus could have had some doubts.
Aren't we s'posed to be like him?

Why am I such a sinner?
Just want to start things over.
Why am I such a sinner?
Just want to start this over.

I am just a worthless liar.
I am just an imbecile.
I will only complicate you.
Trust in me and fall as well.
I will find a center in you.
I will chew it up and leave.
I will work to elevate you 
just so I can bring us down.

Mother Mary won't you whisper
something that will pass the time.
Mother Mary won't you whisper.
Work your miracles sublime.

Why am I such a sinner?
Just want to start things over.
Why am I such a sinner?
Just want to start this over.


Just the other day,
I went after mass to pray,
I heard someone knocking at the door.
I answered, there they were,
a young guy and a girl
They had three kids and looked mighty poor
I got them some lunch,
we talked about the bunch
of trouble teenage sex had let them see.
Although I had doubts,
I had to send them out
with a dozen condoms from the pharmacy.

Don't tell the Pope,
that achy breaky Pope,
I just don't think he could relate.
Cause if you tell the Pope,
that achy breaky Pope,
He might go off and excommunicate.

Please don't tell my mom
her little baby Tom
could possibly soon be an ex-priest.
Don't tell my brother Bill,
that bleeding liberal,
his friends will positively have a feast.
Oh! Tell father John.
Tell anyone you want!
The Pope's gonna know eventually.
If every thoughtful priest
would speak out at least,
we might get the Vatican to see.

Don't tell the Pope . . .


Is this the real life?
Or just Church History?
Caught in a rich past.
Try to guess at God's mystery.

Open your eyes.
Look up to the skys and see.
I'm just a poor Priest
I need no sympathy.
Cause I like to chant
        like to pray.
        Talk to God
        Every day.
Anything the Pope says.
Nothing else matters to me.

Momma, just joined the church.
Followed Jesus where he led.
Put a robe on, shaved my head.
Momma, life had just begun,
but now I've gone and thrown it all away.

Momma, ooo.
Didn't mean to make you cry.
If I could change my mind I'd be home tomorrow.
Carry on, carry on,
as if nothin' really matters.

Too late, my time had come.
The church was my choice.
Use my mind.  Use my voice.
Now I'm doin' the monk thing.
It was either this, or work at Burger King.

Momma, ooo.
Didn't mean to make you cry.
If I could change my mind I'd be home tomorrow.

I see a little sillouetto of a monk.
                                Sing the chant!
"But I can't!!"
                                You must learn the Usualis.
                                All the modes and ficta.  "
Very, Very strange to me"

                & Hilde
"Constantine let me go"
                                Let me go . . . .

"I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me."
                                Spare him his life from this contradictory.
"Nicene Creed, Abra'm's seed, Will you let me go?"
                                No! We will not let you go.
"Let me go"                     No Way!!                "Way!!"
"Jean (gene) Calvin"            We will not let you go.
"Martin Luther"                 We will not let you go.
"Please let me go"              We will not let you go.
no! No! nO! NO! NO! NO! NO!!    no! No! nO! NO! NO! NO! NO!!

Mamma Mia               "Mamma Mia Let me go"
Beelzabub has a devil put aside for me. . .

So you think you can trap me and teach me to think?
You can lead a priest to wine, but you can't make him drink.
Can't do this to me baby. Just gotta get right outa' here.

Nothin' really matters.
Anyone can see.
Nothin' really matters to me. . . .     Anything the Pope says . . .