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First comes the pope; he is a Pole.
Then some old men from all over into the chapel swarm,
Their crimson habits rustling in overwhelming silence.
Now the pope, though a Pole and all, says something apt
About the Jews and their role in the world of faith. 
Next day papers are full of pregnant stories 
About how this Polish pope had handled
The eternal curse resting on Jews' heads.
 
From the Jews he moves on to something else;
The pope doesn't say but it's the weaker sex.
You know the Poles! Women have always been close
To their hearts and thoughts.
(The pope doesn't say but also some place else!)
Now chicks are a much tougher nut to crush 
Than that stiff-necked tribe blind to the word of Christ.
Women are much too libidinous for this
Polish pope's taste.
"They want to eat their cakes"  he chants,
"But they also wish to have them!"
This pope knows that it cannot be, of course.
"You want to eat and have that cake 
Then fondle and embrace it.
REMEMBER EVE ON HER TREK FROM EDEN!"
The crimson pals of this Polish pope nod in unison:
IT IS SO! IT IS SO! IT IS SO!
 
Then the pope moves on to another worthy cause.
"This world is hungry," he sermons.
"On one hand we here eat too much, 
On the other they there eat too little. 
Now if we abstained from our daily cakes 
They'd have something to set their teeth in!" 
BRAVO! BRAVO! cry the fat guys in the galleries.
For you must know that the Poles love applause.
They'll gladly sell their souls 
For a handful of hand clapping.
And so it goes, on and on. 
It's fun being the pope, especially to a Pole.