Witch Hunt  

 
There is nothing quite like a witch hunt
Especially if you happen to be a cunt
The truth never, ever mattered
As long as the victim got battered
There was never a need for evidence
There was certainly no benevolence
Stories by liars
Put witches on fires
With vengeful oppression
No need for confession
No lawyer to access
Accusers were gutless
All brave in a crowd
All able to shout
“Burn The Witch!”
“Burn The Witch!”
“Burn The Witch!”
Picnics with cheeses
Fake worshiping Jesus
Bring the guilty fucker in
6 witnesses to the witch’s sin
None of course had been paid
With bags of silver that’s what they said
Still more than enough for a conviction
But just before the benediction

A voice in the crowd cries out
Maybe the witch isn’t a witch
Maybe just a crabby old bitch
Maybe she was just a herbalist
The crowd booed and hissed
Maybe she’s just not well
She doesn’t deserve Hell

The witch burner general looks for his balls
On the ground like a serpent he crawls
“You speak for the guilty witch?”
“Now I speak for justice not just for the rich.”
“Then ye must be in league with Lucifer too,
I can tell by the silver buckles on your shoe,
Take him; he is the spawn of Satan. Take his
Wife and three children Six will burn for this.”
“Six! The number of the beast let’s make them bleed
We have all the evidence that we need!”
“Burn The Witches!”
“Burn The Witches!”
“Burn The Witches!”

So six were burned
On spit roasts turned
The crowd orgasmicaly roared
As more jugs of ale were poured
A family occasion
For revenge masturbation
The crowd got what they wanted
All accept being haunted
As all six came back
You could hear the whips crack
Six demons on a mission
To torture all into submission
All’s well that ends well
It was the crowd that went to Hell

This would never happen now, could it?
Surely not on Facebook. Would it?