Part One

A battered truck rumbled across the horizon

Stirring up dust clouds in its wake

Four wheels spun like tumbleweeds

Carrying four men to an unknown place

The first man gazed into the distance

One hand gripped the wheel, the other fingered his hat

A smug smile tugged at his lips

As he recalled an evening with a bartender's daughter

The second man sat to his right

Slender fingers lazily strumming a tune

Blonde curls formed a halo of deceit

He wasn't as innocent as he looked

The third man stretched and yawned

Silently dying from the dry desert heat

A booted foot tapped impatiently

While large hands fondled a harmonica

The fourth man was fast asleep

Blue-gray eyes closed against the passing world

A permanent scowl was written across his face

His lips sometimes twitched into a wicked smile

The sun burned fiercely as the morning merged

Into an indifferent noon and the heat of the day

The remains of a pueblo came into view

A lone figure stood at its entrance

It was a thick mamacita, her face heavy with make-up

She greeted the boys with a weary glance

They said they were missionaries, through and through

But the mamacita saw lust in their shaded eyes

She offered them her finest merchandise without blinking

Four Spanish dolls dressed in black leather and heels

Part Two

The party entered an abandoned church

Going their separate ways as they reached a staircase

Four doors closed harmoniously

As the sounds of ecstasy broke the humid silence

Bed springs creaked in that timeless rhythm

While the mamacita smiled, for she was making dinero

She had glimpsed into their hearts, past the pious fa├žade

Thirty pesos was the deal for an hour, sixty for two

It wasn't long before their lust died out

Replaced by feelings of regret and doubt

The sun crept closer to the ground

While a frigid air gripped the small town

Full, fucked, and rested, the men were content

Giving their girl a kiss as they hurried off to bed

Part Three

They awoke at sunrise to bid the town good-bye

Not a pang struck at their hearts as they left their girl's side

It was hardly nine as the truck drove off

Each man fingering the silver cross he bore

They were missionary men of an unusual sort

Offering the service of confession and more

To spread God's word was important and all

But why not be a personal Jesus and answer a whore's call?

To deal with the pleasures of the flesh was divine

Casting off the cloak of faith made for a fine time