The first time that I went to church was on a Sunday morning
And from what I'd heard, I figured I'd spend me whole time yawning
At 18 years of age or so, I thought I knew it all
Me hair was long, me jeans were tight
I loved a knife and buckle fight
Provided mates stood left and right
And those we fought were small
But me mates and me, we'd never been
So off to church we filed
We marched inside, about three abreast
Straight down the middle aisle
Some of us were smokin' cigs;
Ron was sucking candies
We sat in what they call a "pew"
Then looked around to see just who'd come inside
Let me tell you, everyone dressed like dandies
And the row behind was full of dames
You shoulda seen their looks!
And one old dear, she gives me a smile
And offers me some books Tah!
We open 'em, pass 'em around
You shoulda seen the words, all set out like poetry is
And Sam says through his lemon fizz
"These books is fer the birds"
"Shhhh! Tsk tsk tsk tsk!"
One old lady says And the whole place buzzed
And Sam turns around and says
"Oh do hush up, you make more noise than us"
We looked around the building then It really was revealing
Sam says, "Hey mates, I get the score
"There ain't no carpets on the floor
"Look at the rafters; they're so poor they can't afford a ceiling
"Can't afford electric either; using candles everywhere"
"Shut your face," I says to Sam, "I'm be listening"
So was Ron And from the left, without a noise
Came a line of little boys And Sam says, in a puzzled voice
"Coo, they've all got nighties on"
Then came men, in robes and banners
"Look at that one, must be queer "
And they dare condemn us for the way we choose our gear?"
And then there's the minister, who's job's to preach
The Minister Whats-his-name
Those real long prayers, and what he preaches
Sounds just about the same
I came to church to listen — close
But I can't understand their chatter
It's like "mumble, mumble, shifting sinking sands"
And words like judgment or reprimand
Well, me and me mates can't understand talk quite like that
I'm used to talking with me mates
With words that has a meaning
If people like that sort of stuff…
Well, let them, that's okay
But let me tell you what I feel
I feel we need someone who'll deal in words and thoughts
And things that's real — I'd listen to what he'd say
Me mum once said, "Son, Jesus came to help young men like you"
But Jesus came so long ago
Mum, and I don't think it's true
But is there anyone here, right now, who can explain to me
Is Christ a myth?
A madman's whim?
Some say Christ can cure our sin I
S there a way to contact Him?
Or will I die not knowing how?
Listen, I only came to church to see if they could offer hope
But everything that happened there was way outside my scope
Like afterwards, outside, was a beggar on the grass
He held out his hand, and people'd smile, then they'd pass
I'm sure he reached for something real
For something more than cash
He begged them for a little cheer
And they all pretended not to hear I get the message
Loud and clear:
Church is middle class
And from what I'd heard, I figured I'd spend me whole time yawning
At 18 years of age or so, I thought I knew it all
Me hair was long, me jeans were tight
I loved a knife and buckle fight
Provided mates stood left and right
And those we fought were small
But me mates and me, we'd never been
So off to church we filed
We marched inside, about three abreast
Straight down the middle aisle
Some of us were smokin' cigs;
Ron was sucking candies
We sat in what they call a "pew"
Then looked around to see just who'd come inside
Let me tell you, everyone dressed like dandies
And the row behind was full of dames
You shoulda seen their looks!
And one old dear, she gives me a smile
And offers me some books Tah!
We open 'em, pass 'em around
You shoulda seen the words, all set out like poetry is
And Sam says through his lemon fizz
"These books is fer the birds"
"Shhhh! Tsk tsk tsk tsk!"
One old lady says And the whole place buzzed
And Sam turns around and says
"Oh do hush up, you make more noise than us"
We looked around the building then It really was revealing
Sam says, "Hey mates, I get the score
"There ain't no carpets on the floor
"Look at the rafters; they're so poor they can't afford a ceiling
"Can't afford electric either; using candles everywhere"
"Shut your face," I says to Sam, "I'm be listening"
So was Ron And from the left, without a noise
Came a line of little boys And Sam says, in a puzzled voice
"Coo, they've all got nighties on"
Then came men, in robes and banners
"Look at that one, must be queer "
And they dare condemn us for the way we choose our gear?"
And then there's the minister, who's job's to preach
The Minister Whats-his-name
Those real long prayers, and what he preaches
Sounds just about the same
I came to church to listen — close
But I can't understand their chatter
It's like "mumble, mumble, shifting sinking sands"
And words like judgment or reprimand
Well, me and me mates can't understand talk quite like that
I'm used to talking with me mates
With words that has a meaning
If people like that sort of stuff…
Well, let them, that's okay
But let me tell you what I feel
I feel we need someone who'll deal in words and thoughts
And things that's real — I'd listen to what he'd say
Me mum once said, "Son, Jesus came to help young men like you"
But Jesus came so long ago
Mum, and I don't think it's true
But is there anyone here, right now, who can explain to me
Is Christ a myth?
A madman's whim?
Some say Christ can cure our sin I
S there a way to contact Him?
Or will I die not knowing how?
Listen, I only came to church to see if they could offer hope
But everything that happened there was way outside my scope
Like afterwards, outside, was a beggar on the grass
He held out his hand, and people'd smile, then they'd pass
I'm sure he reached for something real
For something more than cash
He begged them for a little cheer
And they all pretended not to hear I get the message
Loud and clear:
Church is middle class
No comments:
Post a Comment