The first time I went to church,
was on a Sunday morning,
and from what I'd heard, I figured I'd spend my ol' time, yawning.
at eighteen years of age or so, I thought I knew it all.
me hair was long, me jeans were tight.
I loved a knife or buckle fight.
providing mates stood left and right
and those we fought were small.
but me mates an' me, we'd never been
so off to church we filed.
we marched inside, 'bout three abreast,
straight down the middle aisle.
some of us was smokin' cigs, an Ron was suckin' candy.
we sat in what they called a 'pew'.
then looked around, just to see who'd come inside,
everyone dressed like dandys.
an' the row behind was full of dames,
you should have seen their looks...
but one old dear, she gave me a smile, and offered me some books.
ah! you should have seen the words, all set out like poetry is,
the words put us in a tizz.
and Fred says through his lemon fizz "these books is for the birds!"
ssshhhttt! one old lady says. and the whole place buzzzed
an Sam turns and says "oh do hush up! ya make more noise than us!"
then we looked around the building then, it really was revealing,
Sam says "hey mates! hey get the score, there ain't no carpets on the floor."
"see the rafters, they're so poor the can't afford a ceiling"
"can't afford electric either, using candles everywhere"
"ha heh, colored windows, like my granny's, at the bottom of the stairs"
"shut your face I says to Sammy, I'm for listening, so is Ron!"
and from the left without a noise came a line of little boys
an Sam says in a puzzled voice,
"que! they've all got nighties on"
then came men in robes and banners "look at that one, must be weird"
and then they dare condem us for the way we chose our gear?
then there's the minister, who's job's to preach.
the minister, what's his name
with those really long prayers and he preaches... sounds just about the same.
but, I came to church to listen, close, but I can't dig the chat
it's like ....shifting, sinking sands...
and words like condemnation, and repremand.
well me and me mates don't understand a language quite like that.
I'm used to talking with me mates in words that have a meaning.
that there church was just about the weirdest place I been in,
if people like that kind of stuff...well, let them, that's ok...
but let me tell you what I feel, I feel we need someone who'll deal,
in words and thoughts, and things that's real.
I'd listen to what he'd say.
me grandmum once said "son, Jesus came to help young men like you"
but, Jesus came so long ago mum, I don't think it's true.
is there someone here, who can explain to me, right now.
is Christ a myth? a madman's whim?
some say that Christ can cure our sin.
is there a way to contact Him?
or will I die, not knowing how?
oh, listen I only came to church to see if they could offer hope,
but everything that happened there was way outside my scope.
like afterwards, outside, there was a begger on the grass,
he held his hand out to the people,
they'd smile, and they'd pass...
I'm sure he reached for something real, for something more than cash
he begged them for a little cheer, an they all pretended not to hear.
I get the message, loud and clear, church is middle class.