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 So talcum powder was proposed, to dull the shiny three.
So now upon a Sunday, the OHP is clear And all the people at the back, no longer have to peer The follicly challenged trio, forgiven of their sin Are dusted down with loads of talc and everybody wins.
