I see a God-like Holy mushroom,

Bursting forth some rainy day half a mile above

Those crusty crumbling greenish towers,

Erupting forth through foetid clouds over New York City,

Renowned for its God of Gold we are taught to love.

One hundred megatons of Holy Heat,

Bleaching white the sooted corridors,

Scouring clean the grimy burrows,

Vaporising the shadowy sheenies

As they clutch their phallic stocks and bonds;

Their tumorous bodies erupting in one final joyous sound.

One hundred megatons of Holy Fire,

Burning out the darkened dankness;

Sterilising the stygian stalagmites,

Holocausting the inhuman mulatto multitudes,

As they slither beneath the smouldering, steaming

Compost heaps of old black ghetto land.

One hundred megatons of Holy Sound

Roaring suddenly this mightiest concussion,

Thundering louder than the hideous screeching

Of ten thousand sweating straining Negresses.

Squeezing out ten thousand smelly bastards howling,

Resounding louder than a million frantic twisted shiny

Blacks, coupled in animalistic frenzies -

Altogether yowling,

Echoing louder than simultaneous wailing,

Of six million scurrilous Jews whilst departing

From a planet they were steadily befouling.

Oh mushroom cloud in all your glory,

Cleanse and purge that island of its mouldy Jewish structures,

Eternally annihilate those Hebrew counting houses,

And all their Shabbez Goyim with real and imagined raptures,

And don't forget to disinfect the air about of all its noxious poisons,

Those sick contagions exhausted from countless diseased lungs,

Polluted by two hundred years of democratic potions.

Oh, Cloud of Deliverance,

Bestow your aurora of eternal radiations,

Reminding those who in some distant future would,

Doubt the final outcome of a wicked and soulless city

That is thoroughly infected by the Goldish