your Al-Aqsa [Mosque] is defiled and destroyed.”
Hoo Haah, I’m waiting for that day and it can’t come
Say, I thought the Israelis gave control of that mosque
to the mullahs, how can it be defiled oh, never mind
there are jews within a thousand miles, I see.
There’s a vid showing the Al-Aqsa mosque with trash strewn about, boys playing soccer & running in and out of the place. Sacred, my infidel you-know-what.
Jews within a thousand miles defile Al-Aqsa? I can see a mosque from where I live. Used to get hostile looks when I came home from reserve duty in uniform and stopped at the local Food Lion. Retired now due to age, drat.
This FL is next to college campus and college babes are always in evidence. Yesterday I saw some of same in coverups over their bikinis, gave thanks to G-d for these heavenly visions. But there were also two Muslimahs in full garbage bag getup only no face veil so I saw the murderous looks they gave those bikini girls. The war front is soon to be everywhere, folks.
When the Bet Hamikdash descends from Heaven and squishes their Mosque flat, the golden ceiling will become the floor, and they will all leave.
Here’s a poem of my own.
I have no Jooos! in my pocket.
Have you got any in yours?
Yes, I have Jooos! in my pocket.
Tell me what you use them for?
I blame them for all my problems,
And I beat them black and blue.
Then I ask them for advice
When I don’t know what to do.
What do they do in your pocket?
They conspire and lie and cheat,
And they use the blood of infants
In the matzah that they eat.
So you have Jooos! in your pocket.
Tell me. What do they advise?
They foretell the years of plenty
;And the years of famine, drought.
They counsel me, “economize,”
And medicate my gout.
So if your pockets are empty
And you want to grow and thrive
Put some Jooos! in your pocket
And don’t let them out alive.
I’m a Jooo! from your pocket.
Say, you get right back in there.
I am through with your pocket.
We will suffer. Don’t you care?
You blamed me for all your problems,
And you beat me black and blue.
I won’t give you more advice.
I have other things to do.
My homeland beckons to me,
And I’m done with making bricks,
Grasping straws and acting brilliant,
Entertaining, getting screwed.
I’m too large for your pocket.
I have no more need to ride you.
Time to plug in to new sockets.
Something’s rotten deep inside you.
So I’ll thank you for the good times,
And I won’t dwell on the bad.
In the future that’s now present
There’s no room for being mad.
Here’s our house. It just came down,
And now see our cousins leaving.
They were wrong, but wanted truth
From false prophet Mo, deceiving.
Now the world is as it should have been
Before our hungry dad
Rushed his supper, lost the garden,
And broke vessels perched too high.
Now the shin is liberated from enlivening those lies.