They sit up the front in the very first pew,
With their beautiful perms and their pearls.
They’re quick at up-standing, and quick kneeling too,
Though its years since this quartet were girls.
The four of them kneel there and smile at the priest,
And speak all the lines with a passion,
I suspect that their husbands are sadly deceased,
Though I don’t pity them for their fashion.
They’re first on their feet and they’re first on their knees,
And they’re always first up to receive,
They all sing out loudly to different degrees,
They’re so pious, or so you’d believe.
But when the collection plate gets handed back,
I glance at the cash they donate,
A few lousy coppers, outlined ‘gainst the black
Sit mournfully there on the plate.
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