THE BELL ©
Sunday and most went to pray,
at the church that had a big spire,
But old farmer Jones, God rest his bones,
decided it was time to expire.
He was driving to town in his horse and trap,
and the afternoon was quite sunny.
Suddenly, a blur of brown and white fur,
as out raced a sprightly young bunny.
The horse shied so quick, as lickerty split,
down the cobbled road it sped,
Old farmer Jones thought,
"He's on a promise." and let him have his head.
On through the wood he thundered,
but then, oh, the dread!
The horse's head went under the branch,
but it took off the Farmer's head.
The head rolled over and over,
'cos that cart it were travelling at speed,
And next day the Postie spotted it
in the dyke, all covered wi' seed.
So Postie picked it up and wrapped it,
then tied it wi' a bit o' twine,
Then sent someone else for 't body,
cos it didn't smell too divine.
Village lads took turns at tolling,
that bell in the tower so tall.
Some got up to mischief,
and others were having a ball.
One young lad that were whistling,
Clergy thought he had swallowed some grit.
Cos he were whistling like a budgie
on a twig, and full of spit.
The lad thought the surplus ripping
but when he tried to walk,
Over his surplus he kept tripping,
as to the alter he'd stalk.
Pulling down on the bell rope,
suddenly it got entwined,
On the little bit in front of him,
in front of his behind.
The verger reprimanded him,
and murmured with a gentle cough,
"Watch how you pull that rope,
or you could rightly get told off!"
Old farmer Jones was buried,
in the shade beneath a big tree.
Where Robin Hood used to roam,
with his band of outlaws free.
So next time in the bathroom
don't get a hole full of soap
Always go to church on Sunday,
and get a soul full of hope.