Chowin’ down on sponge caek
watchin’ the sun baek
All of those Supa Power attendees covered in oil
Strummin’ my twelve string on what’s left of my porch swing
I smell the Supa Power building
It’s beginnin’ to burn to the ground.

I wasted time in Miscavigeville,
Counted the stacks of chits and “Waste Reports” in my In-Basket
Most people claim, rightly so, that Miscavige’s to blame
And I know that, as a former Scientologist, it ain’t my fault.

Don’t know what season it is
Stayed in Scientology for all the wrong reason
With zip to show for it except for this shiny new wart
It’s ain’t much a beauty
It reminds me of a Sea Org cutie
that Miscavige punched into tomorrow some years ago.

I wasted time in Miscavigeville,
Counted the stacks of chits and “Waste Reports” in my In-Basket
Most people claim, rightly so, that Miscavige’s to blame
And now I know it’s Four Foot Thirteen’s fault.

Miscavige ate our flip flops
and stepped on our pop tops
Cut our heels, and made Tom Cruise laugh at us.
But now Cruise is in a blender
Which will soon sorely render
Happy faces on all the ex-clams in the world.

I wasted time in Miscavigeville,
Counted the stacks of chits and “Waste Reports” in my In-Basket
Most people claim, rightly so, that Miscavige’s to blame
And now I know it’s Four Foot Thirteen’s fault.
Yes, most people claim, rightly so, that Miscavige’s to blame
And now I know it’s Four Foot Thirteen’s fault.

(With special thanks to “Margaritaville,” writer: Jimmy Buffett; copyright: Coral Reefer Music.)

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