The Pope Rap by Trevor Moore Lyrics
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
I'm the mother Fucking Pope
And I make, I make Money
I've got a house made of gold
And a city to match
Bullet-proof when I roll
So don't play me like that
Priceless art where I pee
My loo's a louvre like that
Got your country's GDP
In the jewels on my hat
Hustler of all hustlers
Wanna see the proof?
Greatest artist of all time
I got him painting my roof
And for a low low price I'll let you come and see
Just exit through the gift shop as you go to leave
We accept all credit cards if you've no cash today
Put a couple pope bobble-heads on lay-away
Buy as much as you want
Buy as much as you're able
Just don't let Jesus in
Cause he'll start flipping tables
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
He's a mother Fucking Pope
And he makes, he makes Money
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
He's a mother Fucking Pope
And he makes, he makes Money
Mmm look at the ass on him
He's got a face that's an 8
But an age of 10
If a priest gets fresh
And a complaint comes in
Switch him to another city
And them game on again
Because I got F U money
Used for underaged
Stacking paper higher than the rate of Africa's aids
But no condoms guys
Cause God gets enraged
Just keep praying and
Passing around them offering plates
Portfolios to uphold full of government bonds
You know those things countries use to finance all of their bombs
Cause God is love
But he still invests heavily in hate
You seen the maintenance fees to maintain pearly gates?
{crying girl}
Hey girl what's wrong?
My grandmother just died
Oh, well I'm real sorry to hear about that
You know it would be a shame
If someone were to stick her in a place where she just
Burned and burned forever
You don't want that do you?
No
You know I think I'm gonna have to get some of my boys to pray
Real real hard to make sure that doesn't happen
Don't you?
Y-yes yes please thank you
Bitch you got my fucking money?
Media, I run it
Politicians, I own em
Wars I don't condone
But I still bank roll 'em
Wait uh
I mean allegedly
Cause what goes on in my ledger you're not allowed to see
Not a man woman child nation or country
Has the authority to stand up to me
Cause I got a little thing called national sovereignty
It was awarded to me by this cat named Mussolini
You remember Hitler's buddy back from World War II?
He said you didn't see the holocaust
I said Holo-Who?
I got a tax free country
Just for playing along
And when you're this close to God
Nothing you do is wrong
Infallible
Say it with a straight face
That's right my God backs up every single word that I say
He's not some old guy living up in the clouds
He's here on earth
In my wallet
And my bank account
Cause I
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
[L. Ron Hubbard]
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
[Pat Robertson]
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
[You're some punk-ass bitches]
I'm a mother Fucking Pope
[You're not even on my level]
And I make, I make Money
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
[And Dalai Lama, What the fuck are you doing?]
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
[You gotta monetize that shit son]
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
I'm a mother Fucking Pope
And I make, I make Money
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
I'm the mother Fucking Pope
And I make, I make Money
I've got a house made of gold
And a city to match
Bullet-proof when I roll
So don't play me like that
Priceless art where I pee
My loo's a louvre like that
Got your country's GDP
In the jewels on my hat
Hustler of all hustlers
Wanna see the proof?
Greatest artist of all time
I got him painting my roof
And for a low low price I'll let you come and see
Just exit through the gift shop as you go to leave
We accept all credit cards if you've no cash today
Put a couple pope bobble-heads on lay-away
Buy as much as you want
Buy as much as you're able
Just don't let Jesus in
Cause he'll start flipping tables
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
He's a mother Fucking Pope
And he makes, he makes Money
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
He's a mother Fucking Pope
And he makes, he makes Money
Mmm look at the ass on him
He's got a face that's an 8
But an age of 10
If a priest gets fresh
And a complaint comes in
Switch him to another city
And them game on again
Because I got F U money
Used for underaged
Stacking paper higher than the rate of Africa's aids
But no condoms guys
Cause God gets enraged
Just keep praying and
Passing around them offering plates
Portfolios to uphold full of government bonds
You know those things countries use to finance all of their bombs
Cause God is love
But he still invests heavily in hate
You seen the maintenance fees to maintain pearly gates?
{crying girl}
Hey girl what's wrong?
My grandmother just died
Oh, well I'm real sorry to hear about that
You know it would be a shame
If someone were to stick her in a place where she just
Burned and burned forever
You don't want that do you?
No
You know I think I'm gonna have to get some of my boys to pray
Real real hard to make sure that doesn't happen
Don't you?
Y-yes yes please thank you
Bitch you got my fucking money?
Media, I run it
Politicians, I own em
Wars I don't condone
But I still bank roll 'em
Wait uh
I mean allegedly
Cause what goes on in my ledger you're not allowed to see
Not a man woman child nation or country
Has the authority to stand up to me
Cause I got a little thing called national sovereignty
It was awarded to me by this cat named Mussolini
You remember Hitler's buddy back from World War II?
He said you didn't see the holocaust
I said Holo-Who?
I got a tax free country
Just for playing along
And when you're this close to God
Nothing you do is wrong
Infallible
Say it with a straight face
That's right my God backs up every single word that I say
He's not some old guy living up in the clouds
He's here on earth
In my wallet
And my bank account
Cause I
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
[L. Ron Hubbard]
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
[Pat Robertson]
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
[You're some punk-ass bitches]
I'm a mother Fucking Pope
[You're not even on my level]
And I make, I make Money
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
[And Dalai Lama, What the fuck are you doing?]
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
[You gotta monetize that shit son]
Make Money, Make, Make, Money
I'm a mother Fucking Pope
And I make, I make Money