“The Ballad of Sam Kitchen’s Holy Bitchin’”
There once was a fellow named Sammy Kitchen,
Whose hobby—no shock—was religious bitchin’.
He’d stomp ‘round town with prophetic flair,
Like a televangelist with too much hair.
Sam ranted of visions, omens, signs,
End-times charts, and crooked lines.
He’d shout, “REPENT!” at squirrels and crows,
And once tried baptizing a garden hose.
But his favorite pastime—his pride! his joy!—
Was choosing a target to spiritually annoy.
First came Aaron Dean, poor unsuspecting lad,
Who Sam declared “theologically bad!”
Sam raged so loud the rafters shook—
The town called it “Sam’s Religious Kook-A-Palooza Cook-Book.”
But when that feud finally cooled to mild,
Sam needed a new prophet to make reviled.
Enter Steve Meyers, fresh as dawn—
Sam latched on like a televangelist pawn.
“HERESY!” he bellowed, “BLASPHEMY TOO!”
Though no one knew what Steve did (or who).
He marched through town in sandals worn,
Preaching like an apocalyptic foghorn.
Folks whispered softly, “Bless his heart…
…his brain’s a few scriptures short of a chart.”
Still Sam keeps ranting, day and night,
Holy fury at full flight.
And the town just sighs, “Here we go again—
Sam’s rewriting Revelations with a ballpoint pen.”
So raise a toast to Sam the Loud,
The self-anointed prophet of the overly-proud,
Whose pious tantrums, wild and rich,
Make heaven chuckle at his holy bitch.
There once was a fellow named Sammy Kitchen,
Whose hobby—no shock—was religious bitchin’.
He’d stomp ‘round town with prophetic flair,
Like a televangelist with too much hair.
Sam ranted of visions, omens, signs,
End-times charts, and crooked lines.
He’d shout, “REPENT!” at squirrels and crows,
And once tried baptizing a garden hose.
But his favorite pastime—his pride! his joy!—
Was choosing a target to spiritually annoy.
First came Aaron Dean, poor unsuspecting lad,
Who Sam declared “theologically bad!”
Sam raged so loud the rafters shook—
The town called it “Sam’s Religious Kook-A-Palooza Cook-Book.”
But when that feud finally cooled to mild,
Sam needed a new prophet to make reviled.
Enter Steve Meyers, fresh as dawn—
Sam latched on like a televangelist pawn.
“HERESY!” he bellowed, “BLASPHEMY TOO!”
Though no one knew what Steve did (or who).
He marched through town in sandals worn,
Preaching like an apocalyptic foghorn.
Folks whispered softly, “Bless his heart…
…his brain’s a few scriptures short of a chart.”
Still Sam keeps ranting, day and night,
Holy fury at full flight.
And the town just sighs, “Here we go again—
Sam’s rewriting Revelations with a ballpoint pen.”
So raise a toast to Sam the Loud,
The self-anointed prophet of the overly-proud,
Whose pious tantrums, wild and rich,
Make heaven chuckle at his holy bitch.

9 comments:
Off-topic post? Not really because Kitchen and his ilk do not realize how much they follow the apparent shyster who wrote the Scofield Bible. A great deal of Armstrongism was said to be based on it. Learn about the shyster at the link below.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g5RKKOClKg0
No Hope
Even with other people doing all the actual work to produce professional songs for Samuel Kitchen and even with the Banned by HWA Blog giving so much free advertising to Samuel Kitchen, Samuel Kitchen probably still will not get anywhere.
All the old Worldwide Church of God people have already been suckered in and neutralized and destroyed by the various other splinter groups that arose over the past 39 years since Herbert W. Armstrong's death on January 16, 1986.
Sam's w(h)inning. He's got 5 followers, a ballad, and more money? But please, change "holy" to "unholy".
Good work. This is almost interesting.
Sam should have used Sammy Hagar for the vocals. Something like maybe "I can't drive 55 to Petra". Or, perhaps "Get on Your Bad Motor Scooter and Ride!"
Thanks, 10:14! Got January 16 on my calendar! Ding dong, the witch is dead!
Party time,
Scofield was a great promoter of the Rapture, a very false and wicked doctrine.
Great song, love it. But the lyrics listed are not all of them, there are a few verses after what you showed, and it would be great to see all the lyrics! Whoever made this, very good job.
The lyrics posted was by a user here named Tonto. Gary only shared his lyrics. The rest of the song I wrote.
Full Lyrics-
“The Ballad of Sam Kitchen’s Holy Bitchin’”
There once was a fellow named Sammy Kitchen,
Whose hobby—no shock—was religious bitchin’.
He’d stomp ‘round town with prophetic flair,
Like a televangelist with too much hair.
Sam ranted of visions, omens, signs,
End-times charts, and crooked lines.
He’d shout, “REPENT!” at squirrels and crows,
And once tried baptizing a garden hose.
But his favorite pastime—his pride! his joy!—
Was choosing a target to spiritually annoy.
First came Aaron Dean, poor unsuspecting lad,
Who Sam declared “theologically bad!”
Sam raged so loud the rafters shook—
The town called it “Sam’s Religious Kook-A-Palooza Cook-Book.”
But when that feud finally cooled to mild,
Sam needed a new prophet to make reviled.
Enter Steve Meyers, fresh as dawn—
Sam latched on like a televangelist pawn.
“HERESY!” he bellowed, “BLASPHEMY TOO!”
Though no one knew what Steve did (or who).
He marched through town in sandals worn,
Preaching like an apocalyptic foghorn.
Folks whispered softly, “Bless his heart…
…his brain’s a few scriptures short of a chart.”
Still Sam keeps ranting, day and night,
Holy fury at full flight.
And the town just sighs, “Here we go again
Sam’s rewriting Revelations with a ballpoint pen.”
So raise a toast to Sam the Loud,
The self-anointed prophet of the overly-proud,
Whose pious tantrums, wild and rich,
Make heaven chuckle at his holy bitch.
Now settle down and listen to my little rhyme
The town they didn’t agree nor stood by Sammy’s side
They argued and whined about how loud he was
And laughed him to scorn for being who he was
Now they loved all their sin, their lust and their vile
And Sam reminded them of a path walked a little higher
But they all turned up their crooked noses
And made a little rhyme for the man they stood opposing
Yes he may be loud, but they wanted wickedness
So eventually they all gathered to put him all to rest
And as they built the fire to burn Sammy there
He said believe God, and laughed full of desire
To dance and to sing among funeral pyre.
Isn’t it sad to see the end, how people love to murder a man who was their friend
He warned them and gave a sharp rebuke
But the town they all loved to pay their wicked dues
Yeah they all reaped what came to them due.
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