I don’t hang out with tricksters, I don’t pal around with thugs; I hate that pack of gangsters, I don’t deal with double-dealers. I scrub my hands with purest soap, then join hands with the others in the great circle, dancing around your altar, GOD, Singing God-songs at the top of my lungs, telling God-stories. GOD, I love living with you; your house glows with your glory. When it’s time for spring cleaning, don’t sweep me out with the quacks and crooks, Men with bags of dirty tricks, women with purses stuffed with bribe-money.
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