God, don’t be too hard on me, though I am unrepentant,
and if I said, “I’m sorry, God,” you’d know I wouldn’t of meant it.
A man who’d whip a dog, could he be someone you’ve created,
or Satan’s mutant android spawn, pure evil unabated?
God, I confess, I stole that dog – she never made a fuss as
I brought her home and fed her good, a feast fit for a duchess.
She snores like fifty drunken sailors, but her breath is sweeter;
I held my nose and brushed her teeth. Oh, mercy! What’d he feed her?
The moon had set, you know, when me and Dulcie did the meanness,
a-creepin’ up the devil’s road; nobody could of seen us,
and when we set to howlin’, Lord, it like to made ME shiver,
as if the hounds o’ hell unleashed had come to eat his liver.
We peeped around the corner, saw his white face at the winder.
God forgive me, but I never felt less like a sinner.
Then Jake, he lit the flames, t’was nothin’ but a bunch of paddin’,
and Dulcie wailed unearthly, till she doubled over laughin’.
I hear the fellow’s gone; perhaps he’s back on his home planet.
The pup, she’s happy as a meadowlark. We named her Janet.
O God, have mercy on my soul, a poor and wretched sinner.
Amen. (I got to hurry off; it’s time for Janet’s dinner.)
Sister Alma Rose Has the Last Word 