The Lord had a son.
Sent the son-of-a-gun
Sent him down here to run.
But the work he had done
Was never, ever done!
We redid, we redid, we redid it!
But the work wouldn’t stick.
Even laid it on thick!
With lightning and thunder!
Threats of tossing asunder
A bus, any bus, so watch out we did.
And no one did kid
Themselves…
It was all up to luck now.
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