I Predict the Death of Harold Camping - Iron Reagan

Have you any idea what you are

Con artist, unbalanced

To be predicting the end of days

Preaching myths to the masses

Oh God, if you do exist

Muzzle this harebrained, audacious prick

The world will sing

Go to hell, Harold Camping!

Think for yourself, don’t be devoured by his fictitious assumptions

He’s a dispatcher of fantasy

Delivering myths to the masses

I know exactly what you are

God speaks to me too, from afar

Yes, I predict

The death of one Harold Camping