A Parish’s Poorest Tale.. A.P.P.T..

As we gather in the slight chill of night,
to celebrate Christmas in our small town.
Forget the poor people and their plight,
it wasn’t only you or I, who let them down.

God’s churches are selective, he loves you wealthy,
christ’s poor are a different animal don’t you know
Pray ignore their sad tale, they’re perfectly healthy,
without our roof they’d be starving under the snow.

We are responsible, we look after those meek fools,
though none of us want to mix with an unclean lot.
If only they’d understand we’ve got to have rules,
surely it’s better to be poor than dead, is it not.

We supply the funds to build the poor house,
then they have the cheek to say they’re hungry.
Yesterday they ate the innards from my grouse,
yet they still ask for more, I’m so blasted angry.

I am vicar of this parish town and I shall be obeyed,
this is my church, I’ll decide whose morals shall enter.
I’ll give a service at the poor house after we’ve prayed,
leaving my congregation at peace with their mentor.

They didn’t ask to be rich it’s all in god’s great plan,
he gave them means as well as a good foundation.
The responsibility of wealth hangs heavy on man,
today is a day they speak to the lord with contrition.

So stay your hand and leave our church you swine,
lay down that weapon we have no more to give.
When amongst gods wealthy the poor shall be supine,
or merciful god will find them somewhere else to live..