Spin, Taylor, Spin!

A musical autopsy of Taylor Marshall’s Trad Inc. weather-vane theology—from Lefebvre and the new Mass to Leo, Super Chats, and the internet’s long memory.

Verse 1

Way out on the digital homestead,

Where the thumbnails grow bright red,

Doctor Taylor checks the market

Before he tells you what God said.

He read Canon Thirteen-Twenty-Three,

Then solemnly proclaimed:

“Lefebvre could never be excommunicated!”

Till the audience winds had changed.

Six years later, brow all furrowed,

Speaking painfully and slow:

“Was it schism? Was it mortal?”

Twenty minutes left to go.

Yesterday the law was certain,

Clear as Scripture carved in stone;

Today it’s “highly controversial”—

Please subscribe and take a loan.

Chorus

Spin, Taylor, spin, on the Trad Inc. weather vane,

Francis brings the thunder, Leo brings the rain.

Yesterday resistance, today salute the chair;

Tomorrow he’ll explain that he was always standing there.

Ring the bell, quote a saint, let the red light shine,

Two canons and a thumbnail and a sponsor right on time.

Every crisis fills the silo, every scandal feeds the store—

The Doctor of the Algorithm is changing sides once more.

Verse 2

Once the new Mass had a theology

From a different neighborhood,

Freemasons wrote its prayers, he said,

And Latin couldn’t make it good.

Protestantized from stem to stern,

A poison in the cup—

Then Leo smiled and Taylor cried,

“Quit saying evil stuff!”

“Where Peter is, there is the Church,”

He Googled late one night;

He found a saint, he found a quote,

So everything was right.

The Fathers serve as bumper stickers,

The councils come in memes;

A citation makes a doctrine

When it flatters Taylor’s schemes.

Chorus

Spin, Taylor, spin, on the Trad Inc. weather vane,

Francis brings the thunder, Leo brings the rain.

Yesterday resistance, today salute the chair;

Tomorrow he’ll explain that he was always standing there.

Ring the bell, quote a saint, let the red light shine,

Two canons and a thumbnail and a sponsor right on time.

Every crisis fills the silo, every scandal feeds the store—

The Doctor of the Algorithm is changing sides once more.

Verse 3

He warned about the “free-range bishops”

Roaming loose from sea to sea,

Then learned the ancient saints had done

Some awkward history.

He coined “episcopi-vacantists,”

With a scholar’s vacant stare;

When the argument went missing,

He invented one to spare.

He mocked a homemade mandate

Like a homemade college grade—

From the chancellor of Marshall U,

Where every man gets paid.

Write your thesis, print your parchment,

Frame it handsomely in pine;

Major in Infiltration,

Minor in hedging every line.

Bridge

Was it schism?

Was it prudence?

Was it lawful?

Was it gray?

Let me stare into the camera

While the Super Chats display.

I have sympathy for everyone,

Whichever side you choose;

Send ten dollars with your question,

And I’ll tell you whom to accuse.

I opposed the papal program—

Till the papal branding changed.

Now obedience is Catholic,

And resistance is deranged.

Please ignore the older video.

That was Taylor yesterday.

Verse 4

He fought the Francis pontificate

With Viganò at his side:

“Recognize and then resist him!”

Was the merchandise he supplied.

Then Leo crossed the balcony,

And Taylor changed his tune:

“Trust the pope and mind your manners—

Full communion’s coming soon!”

The infiltration disappeared,

The crisis lost its teeth;

The revolution became holy

Once a friendlier face stood beneath.

A usurper under Francis,

A sacred office under Leo—

The doctrine follows polling

On the Trad Inc. rodeo.

Final Chorus

Spin, Taylor, spin, on the Trad Inc. weather vane,

Sell the fear at sunrise, sell reassurance when it rains.

Yesterday a rebel, today the palace guard;

Keeping every faction pleased is mighty spiritually hard.

Ring the bell, quote a saint, make the frightened faithful pay,

Milk the Church on Monday, change the doctrine Tuesday.

He’ll straddle every fence until his trousers hit the floor—

The Doctor of the Algorithm is changing sides once more.

Spin, Taylor, spin, let the Super Chats all pour—

The patron saint of saying much and meaning nothing more.

Outro

Two quotes…

Two canons…

One mournful camera stare…

And when the wind shifts tomorrow,

Taylor’s always been right there.

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