Pews ‘ard as oaks ‘n’ Pastor Paul’d

wheedle and coax us ter gerrup

‘n’ tek owern Lord Jesus

in yower proud ’n’ stubben ‘arts.

Uncle John ‘n’ the Lindas’d

shut their eyes ‘n’ try ter rise me

wi’ their prayers, but I sat toight

‘n’ others stood ‘n’ they bist saved  instead.

After guitars we traipsed ter the ‘ouse

wi’ the table where little David  wuz laid.

We’d a corner apiece ‘n’ uncurled

‘n’ stretched ‘is arms ‘n’ legs –

Faith ‘Ealin’ ‘n’ Physiotherapy

‘n’ summat ter do wi’ sin.

There wuz a knack ‘n’ a throb that I catched

‘n’ dropped each time I looked past

the crosses ‘oong from the Lindas’ necks

all jigglin’ about ‘n’ bostin.

Then David guz yampy ‘n’spits

‘n’ splothers ‘n’ flails ‘is puny limbs.

Oi’ll gerrup soon as ‘e does, I thought,

‘n’ it’s proven a sound enuff wager.