Jesus Christ in Southwark

Believe - the original captain cook=book, written by Ruth and Boaz about Adam and Eve!
And for the record, me duchess of Fife, Mary Magdala, uses only for cooking purposes a and is me very own carving knife in truth, and offers for desert occasionally salmon and trout, when it's just the trouble and me at home alone, and I might go for the Jameson and she for needle and pin but not until it is her mother's ruin,
and me, as her old and eternal pot and pan am not ashamed that I am also her weeping willow in our uncle ned's bed, and yer know there never was a last proper tommy tucker supper with the apostles, as they all were rather in for Judas' bees and honey blood money 'cause they are eternal babbling brooks in the sense of crooks, and now they still want all the butchers 'ave a let at us on their hooks but in fact they pretend they are God's Bath Bun in the sense of illegitimate Son, 'ho 'as bees and honey by the ton from his falsefied Jack and Jill accounts of already the Cain and Abel table - and us they want to declare spiritual pus and kill me Duchess with their carving knife, only we are the rightful cash and carried =married in God's cat and mouse=house.

Mary Magdala is me old Dutch and I love her to bits, and I also love her bristols but for that every old Satanistic  bat gives us a most desecrated ding dong bell=hell.
What a dicky bird=as a living word to tell!!!


Let's sing Ding Dong to God's glory as in song!!!

And let's fry the uncle fred=bread in doctor crippen=in dripping, but bring a bottle for the occasion
as it took me some persuasion not to drown the whole lot of bloody holy friars =liars in the Thames
fisherman's daughter=water and afterwards to get the elephant's trunk=drunk. So, bring a bottle for yer tommy tucker, as every pretender geezer and sucker has on me mass wine done the tea leaf=thief,
but me trouble fortunately 'as used her loaf, even under oath at God's garden gate=magistrate and so, I give meself a good dig in the grave=shave, and visit 'er in the bo-peep before I send her a bladder of lard=card from my bread and butter=gutter, as our enemies want to put me even in a bucket and pail=jail, for their own crime and filth and grime, as if I did not have enough wounds still from their rotten nails.

Can yer 'elp us out? God pays you back, when He gives me 'is greens, and, yer never know, Delboy might 'ave some special offer for you for free on 'undreds of cans of Mr Sheens, 'cause as the bath bun of God, I am always sort of nose with me old Dutch and future dustbin lids on the run and hearts of oak financially but I promise yer will be rewarded in heaven with a special cloak, if yer help us out of this ding dong bell by that roman road jack and jill, 'ho plays in God's cat and mouse as yer can fight in me trouble's captain cooks about Lilian Gish, and our early hours she 'as also tealeaved. Spread the dicky beard, please, that every secret society 'as us up for a piss and we do not need a la-di-dah near and far but just our plates of meat to get to the right nanny goat to stay in this rotten world afloat.

And Mrs Chant 'as for yer ready an Aristotle and Fine and Dandy and tell her that Jesus Christ is now finally at last THE pitch and toss!

And it shall not be to yer eternal life's loss, if yer give about yer own family a toss and I share even with yer my last oily rag, and kiss yer plates of meat and invite yer for a porkie kidney punch that don't cost the world as in heaven on earth we do never have a credit crunch, and certainly not against old friends any hunch, only against some nasty heretical monster bunch.

See yer around, don't try me old dog and bone, as too many are bugging us with the cone, as we are in this ding dong bell without yer all jack jones and God needs yer more than ever, and yer on the right part of the road and river. Why does that give me spine a shiver?