Mischievously smiles the sun,
vacation time is time for fun;
swim and play till summer's done
on the ocean shore.
Two sweet girls from school are we,
just 18 and fancy free,
with budding sexuality
knocking at the door.
Sober priest trainees are they;
men of God, they cannot stray;
we play cards this summer day
by the silver sea.
Soon we've taken all their money;
laugh at them—we think it's funny.
"Let us now go swimming, Honey,"
one priest says to me.
"We don't have our bathing suits."
"Lord above won't give two hoots;
if you're one with nature, Cutes,
it will be okay."
Shorts come off and then our pants;
priests are far too pure to glance;
can't go back now, must advance;
life is young and gay.
Shirts come off and then our bras.
Do we hear some soft hurrahs?
Whisper: "There's a Santa Claus!"
Or is it the wind?
Out to where the waves are crashing,
priests and we each other splashing;
in each trough their manhood flashing,
where they've never sinned.
Cheeks are tickled by the breeze;
warm embrace by boiling seas;
droplets touch us where they please,
if not where they should.
Run to dry upon the beach,
private parts in easy reach,
thinking what the Fathers preach:
Abstinence is good.
There is one thing we don't know:
As we watch their manhood grow,
what in heaven makes it so?
Miracles are wrought.
Temptresses! We're in a mess;
burn in hell is our best guess.
Priests are certain to confess
and we will be caught.
Grab our clothes and off we run;
summer day's no longer fun;
nasty sea and nasty sun
taking now their tolls.
Soon to God above we pray:
"Lord, please bless us when we stray.
We're not sinners, we just play;
have mercy on our souls!"
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