[Snap Verse – “Swaggart Blues Beatdown”] [Crackling vinyl, moaning sax, preacher mic echo] Saint Jimmy ain’t hear no Chuck or Presley— but he damn sure hated them blues boys wrestlin’. “HR&B is Hell’s own juke,” he’d say, while Sister swinged her hips his holy way. [Snare roll, slow funk riff] He called the snap-cats “soul-slick devils,” and the Turntable Massiah? A rebel on levels. Said that bassline grind was the Devil’s groove— but it’s Jimmy’s zipper always on the move. [Clav hits like courtroom gavel] Told the youth, “Don’t shake your tail to that beat!” Then shook his own with hotel heat. Condemned the blues as sin and shame— but his bedposts moaned out the same damn name. [Snap-snap. Horn blurt. Boot scuff.] Said the Lord don’t dance—but Jimmy did, with a smile full of bourbon and a cash-stuffed lid. HR&B was his public sin, but private? He’d pay to get back in. [Fuzz guitar, muted trumpet echo] A holy war on rhythm and sweat, while Jimmy got his collar wet. He baptized fear in vinyl wrath, but baby—he just hated a Blacker path. [Final drop. Static and whispers.] So when he cries on-air, mascara thick— don’t mistake it for a holy flick. Just a man with a mic, a lie, and a check, yellin’ “Satan!” to dodge his own wreck. ---
