The Reverend Smalls is of the Older Class,
With a Kneeling Ovation in every Mass.
His Sermons are full of the Old Brimstone and Fire,
And give Nightmares galore to the Kids in the Choir.
He\'ll bless you for coming but know it quite Plain,
The reason your here was to get out from the Rain.
When a Collection is due Please give what you will,
Though he\'ll end up with old Buttons and Coins from Brazil.
Their Miserly faces say our Finances are hard,
A more fruitful Collection from the Folk in the Yard.
And Tales of Sodom and Gomorrah are rife,
In the Confessional Box every Wednesday Night.
He watches the Sinners parade through the door,
And once they\'re forgiven they\'ll go out getting more.
But Christenings and Funerals are where he does Shine,
Whether your Starting or Ending, the performance sublime.
He\'ll be seeing you off on Life\'s great toil,
And once again with Shovels of Soil.
And not for him the most Modern of ways,
Of Hippy Hymns like \'Woodstock\' days,
No Gospel Choir and dancing Flock:
It\'s \'Jerusalem\' and that\'s your lot.
The Reverend Smalls is Old School born,
Victorian Ideals in human form,
And he eschews the Religion the people now own,
The Temple of \'Netflix\' and the Mobile phone.