THE CHURCH FETE WORSE THAN DEATH

The boys scouts are demonstrating their knots

The WI serving lukewarm tea all day

There are flies already round the cake stall

And the tombola for some bath salts is under way;

The curate has started the snail race

But the snails are refusing to go

The bouncy castle is slowly deflating

Just two chihuahuas in the novelty dog show

There no prizes left in the Lucky Dip

Which was run by the vicar’s wife

Now she’s showing off her first aid skills

But there’s no queue for the kiss of life.

The choristers will be singing Jerusalem

Following a fashion show by girl guides

Next up the dancing from the bible class

And a limping donkey giving limp donkey rides

The vicar has begun his speech

And he hasn’t come up for breath

About half past two it starts to rain

At the church fete worse than death

Then the boys scouts kidnap a sidesman

And set fire to his trousers for fun

His yells are drowned by the noise

Of the curate firing  his gun

As he mows down the Mother’s Union

To stop their incessant sobbing

For the chairlady has discovered to her cost

He’s put acid in the apple bobbing

Someone hid razor blades in the bran tub

Sloshed excess fuel on the charcoal too

Behind his beard the janitor’s face lit up

When he put a match to the barbeque

The WI are pulling fingernails

Of every member of the choir

The vicar’s wife has attacked her husband

And is garrotting him with wire

Shouting every year it’s the bloody same

Until she’s drawn every ounce of breath

Then at four at least it stops raining

At the church fete worse than death