Blessed are the poor and meek
Share your bread with all the weak
Still you'll have much more than these
Empty scribes and pharisees
Listen to their lovely speech
Making Heaven out of reach
But never mind the evil deeds
Of lying scribes and pharisees
They keep the children's daily bread
The little lambs are left unfed
As they feast and take their ease
Fattened scribes and pharisees
Woe
Save us, Lord, from these
Woe to scribes and pharisees
Though their prayers are long and loud
Though they're favored by the crowd
Never has the Lord been pleased
By likes of the scribes and pharisees
So let them sit upon their thrones
Whitewashed tombs and dried up bones
'Tis the end of their disease
Woe to the scribes and pharisees
Woe
Save us, Lord, from these
Woe to scribes and pharisees