Steven, Peter and Michael were in the Worship Group
And every Sunday morning, off to church they'd troop
Singing songs with gusto, praises to The Lord
A choir of hairless angels hid something untoward.
The sun it shone so brightly upon their balding domes
The dazzling rays diverted into the vicars zone
Played havoc with the OHP, the screen you couldn't see
The congregation had to sing some Mission Praisery.
The PCC were so alarmed, they voted, for a change
To find a quick solution to the problems of this mange
Wigs were deemed expensive, a faculty they'd need
Talcum powder was proposed to dull the shiny three.
So now upon a Sunday, the OHP is clear
All the people at the back no longer have to peer
The follically challenged trio, forgiven of their sin
Are dusted down with loads of talc and everybody wins.
