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WHO IS HE?
It was a bright and misty Autumn morn,
When 55 years ago a star was born.
Not in a manger or a local stable,
For he was born on a kitchen table.
No wise men travelling from afar,
Just some family and friends in a rusty old car.
No incense, myrrh or gifts of gold,
Just baby’s milk, that’s freezing cold!
Now 55 years old the poor bloke needs us,
Could it be my mate Andy? Or is it Jesus!
He’s come back to life, like the bible says,
To teach us all his wicked ways.
With a chip on his shoulder from carrying the cross,
He’s no one to talk too, now he’s his own boss!
So you’ve got to feel sorry for the poor old sod,
With his looks, he’s no angel! So who is he? Oh my God!
By
Alan Weston
© Copyright Reserved 2006
It was a bright and misty Autumn morn,
When 55 years ago a star was born.
Not in a manger or a local stable,
For he was born on a kitchen table.
No wise men travelling from afar,
Just some family and friends in a rusty old car.
No incense, myrrh or gifts of gold,
Just baby’s milk, that’s freezing cold!
Now 55 years old the poor bloke needs us,
Could it be my mate Andy? Or is it Jesus!
He’s come back to life, like the bible says,
To teach us all his wicked ways.
With a chip on his shoulder from carrying the cross,
He’s no one to talk too, now he’s his own boss!
So you’ve got to feel sorry for the poor old sod,
With his looks, he’s no angel! So who is he? Oh my God!
By
Alan Weston
© Copyright Reserved 2006