The Genuinely Noxious Story of Reverend Gordon Betts

It's hard to think of something worse,
Than to hear a cleric curse.
It's horrid, wicked, gross and foul,
It's even worse than Simon Cowell!
But Very Reverend Gordon Betts,
Had major problems with Tourettes!

He'd try so hard to not upset,
The congregations that he'd get.
And keep his filthy, foul-mouthed lingo,
For down the pub or after bingo.
And mostly this seemed quite effective,
In channeling his rude invective.

But then last month it all went wrong,
As I recall, at Evensong.
Just when he was supposed to say,
'Get on your knees and let us pray.'
A rather different phrase was uttered,
'Fat Hairy Arse!' the reverend spluttered.

'Great golly gosh' said Mrs White,
'Vicar, did I hear you right?'
She pierced him with a stare so wild,
'I'm ashamed to say, you did, my child.'
'Fat Hairy Arse' was what I said'
'And may the Lord now strike me dead.'

It was as if all time might stop,
You could have heard a rabbit pop!
And then God's hand came from the sky,
And poked the reverend in the eye.
‘Stitch that, you foul mouthed, foolish dolt,’
'Next time t'will be a lightning bolt!'

'Big knobs to you,' the reverend cursed,
'Come on, you wuss, and do your worst!'
And when the bolt came from the sky,
The congregation watched him fry!
His final words before he snuffed it,
Were, 'Bugger, now I've really fluffed it!'