I think I’m God. I always have,
But now I’ve found some proof.
I learned my place just yesterday
When acting like a goof.
My friend was in the bathroom,
And she had been for a while,
So I asked “You having a baby in there?”
My face, it held a smile.
She called back, smiling too.
She answered me, “No, shit.”
“No shit?” I thought? “She really is?”
My heart did flip and flit.
You need some help? An ambulance?
She laughed so merrily
I found it hard to believe
She was birthing my baby.
Then it hit me like a rock
Flung at near-mach speed:
How could she have my baby
If we’d never done the deed?
Was I the virgin father?
Was I Jesus’s old chapper?
Was the second coming going on
Atop my porcelain crapper?
She couldn’t be a virgin mother,
That’s a fact that I knew pat.
So I was the father, but so was God.
How do you logic that?
So thus I must conclude that I am God,
The father of the savior.
My son, he is so small and brown,
This time I’ll call him Javier.
