Trevor Moore - The Pope Rap lyrics

Make Money, Make, Make, Money Make Money, Make, Make, Money Make Money, Make, Make, Money I'm the mother f**ing 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 j**els 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 f**ing 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 f**ing Pope And he makes, he makes Money Mmm look at the a** 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 Pa**ing 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 b**h you got my f**ing 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-a** b**hes] I'm a mother f**ing Pope [You're not even on my level] And I make, I make Money Make Money, Make, Make, Money [And Dalai Lama, What the f** are you doing?] Make Money, Make, Make, Money [You gotta monetize that sh** son] Make Money, Make, Make, Money I'm a mother f**ing Pope And I make, I make Money