The Ballad of Ronnie the Liar

This one’s dedicated to Anti-Scientology activist and free speech advocate Pete Griffiths, and the rest of the folks at the SP Cafe!

Click HERE for the video!

And here’s the words:

Listen up, brothers and sisters and friends,

I’ll sing you a tale wherein we write the end.

I sing of our comrades still trapped in the fire,

Hounded by puppets of Ronnie the Liar.

Even though Ronnie is many years gone,

His evil intentions are still rolling on

He filled all those binders with madness and hate,

And left them the craziest way to relate:

 

Chorus:

If they’re O.T., drag ‘em down to the Flag and then

Drain them of Euros and dollars and pounds,

If they’re clear, wreck ‘em with sec-checking and

When they go psycho, we’ll ban ‘em from grounds,

‘Cause ever since Ron did his body-drop “trick,”

All that we’re left with is Davey the dick.

 

Ronnie’s first lie only sets up the scene:

He claimed to be born on a Friday thirteenth.

But as it was March, it is painfully clear,

The thirteenth would fall on a Monday that year.

His grandfather’s ranch that he claimed was so vast

Was merely a farm with much better years past.

And yet I’ll not dwell on the lies of himself,

But rather the lies that he told to steal wealth.

 

Chorus

 

He gathered some followers of genius and tone,

He stole their ideas and then claimed them his own,

He bolstered his thieving with pieces and parts

Taken from scriptures and true seekers’ hearts.

He took all the bits and then wrote them all down,

And put them in binders and sold ‘em around,

And then in an arrogant, smug tour-de-force,

He labeled himself as the only true Source.

 

Chorus

 

And then, when in ’86, Ron finally died,

With two nice but brainwashed poor sods by side,

His blood filled with drugs and his trailer with cash,

You could say his exit was lacking in flash.

But you know by then who polluted the scene,

A backstabbing lad barely out of his teens.

He’d dreamed that power’s assumed, so it’s said,

And didn’t care who he left mangled or dead.

 

Chorus

 

While life under Davey grows steadily worse,

The Sea Org’s existence a Kafkaesque curse,

There’s still a few dozen duped millionaires yet,

Who still send him money to fuel up his jet.

Though blinded by graphics and deafened by fear,

Their numbers are dwindling year after year

But how many more folks must suffer and die

Before these rich acolytes open their eyes?

 

Chorus

 

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