Black Country Evangelicals

Pews ‘ard as oaks ‘n Pastor Paul’d
wheedle ‘n coax yer t’ gerrup
‘n tek owern Lord Jesus
in t’ yorn proud ’n stubborn ‘earts.
Uncle John ‘n the Lindas’d
shut their eyes ‘n try t’ roise me
with their prayers, but I sat toight
when others stood ‘n they bist saved instead.
After guitars we traipsed t’ the ‘ouse
with the table where little David wuz laid.
We’d a corner apiece ‘n uncurled
‘n stretched ‘is arms ‘n legs –
faith ‘ealin’’n fillin’ his bones with Christ
in consequence of old sinnin’.
There wuz a knack ‘n a throb that I catched
‘n dropped each time I glanced
at the crosses ‘oong from the Lindas’ necks
all jigglin’ about ‘n bostin’.
Then David guz yampy ‘n splothers
‘n spits ‘n flails ‘is puny limbs.
Oi’ll gerrup soon as ‘e does, I thought,
‘n it’s proven a sound enough wager.