A long time ago my dear brethren,
before anybody here were a twinkle in their father’s kneecaps,
There were two cities called Sodom and Gomorrah,
which were the old names for Oldham and Collyhurst,
and in these cities of Sodom and Gomorrah
there was fornication and copulation and excavation
and hokey pokey, penny a lick and all the rest of it.
And the Lord looked down on the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah
With his baleful eye (the one in the middle) and he was mightily displeased
And He spake unto His Archangel Michael thus,
“Hey up Michael, a word in thy lughole.”
“Yes God”, said Michael.
“I tell thee, lad,” He said,
“I am dischuffed to t’ knickers with them two places
and I am that dischuffed,” He said,
“That I am going to open the heavens tonight,”
He said, “A big rent in t’ clouds,” He said,
“And I’m gonna drop my big balls of fire right on ’em,” He said
“Are you sure ?” said Michael, “Are you sure ?”
“I kid thee not,” said the Lord, “For I am mightily displeased
and at 12 o’clock, bang, smoke, finito Benito.” He said.
“Why 12 oclock ?” said Michael.
“Well,” he said, “I’ve borrowed t’ balls of fire from down below
and they’re going back at half past.
But,” he said, “There is one man in the city of Sodom
and ‘is name is Lot and Lot shall not have ‘is lot,
so I tell thee to hie thee away to the city of Sodom,
Number 18, Clegg Street and fly in at t’ front bedroom window
And tell him to flit, to get beawt, to begone.”
“Right-o,” he said. “But,” said God. “One more thing.
Tell ‘im not to look back when ‘e’s on ‘is way out,
‘cos if ‘e does, my dire prognistications will befall him.”
“Oh, bugger me,” said Michael.
So Michael flapped ‘is big Marks & Spencers’ wings
And flew out of t’windows of Paradise
and into t’ front window of Number 18, Clegg Street,
where ‘e sat on the bed with one foot in t’ chamber po’.
And Lot at that moment was in t’ kitchen cooking a gradely pan of chips on t’ stove
And ‘e saw this great wakening light up t’ back stairs
And ‘e spake unto his wife, Sarah, thus and said,
“Hey up Mother, you’ve left t’ bloody light on.”
“Nay,” she said, “I ‘ave not, I switched it off.”
And Lot ran up the stairs and there sat on the of the bed,
Writing in a book of gold, in a great wakening light,
with one foot in t’ chamber po were th’ Archangel Michael.
“‘Ow do,”said Lot, “Wot’s to do ?”
He said, “It’s the Lord.” He said. “‘E’s dischuffed with this place,” he said.
“‘Ere,” he said, “And Gomorrah,” he said,
“Down the road,” he said,
“Finito Benito, bang, smoke,” he said.
“Big ‘ole in the sky and God’s big balls of fire are comin’ right down.”
“Ooh, ecky thump!” said Lot.
“I kid thee not,” said Michael, “And I’ve got to tell thee,” ‘e said
“To flit, begone,” ‘e said, “Finito Benito,” ‘e said,
“Fast as you can and don’t look back,” ‘e said,
“Otherwise dire prognostications will befall thee.”
“Ooh,” ‘e said. “Thank you very much, ta,” ‘e said.
“Is there owt I can do fer yer? Do yer want a chip butty
or a mash o’ tea like, we’ve just brewed ?”
“No,” ‘e said, “I must be away down the road
to tell Noah ‘e’s going to have a wet summer.”
And ‘e flapped ‘is big wings and flew out of t’ bedroom window,
Over the Hills of Galilee, wi’ t’ chamber po still stuck on ‘is foot.
And it was written in th’ Israeli Times
that a poor unsuspecting shepherd were ‘it on th’ ‘ead by a flying chamber po.
Well Lot descended into t’ kitchen,
where the chip pan were blazin’ up the wall
And ‘is wife accosted ‘im on the back of the ‘ead wi’ t’ rolling pin forty times.
“You silly bugger,” she said. “Nay, Mother,” ‘e said,
“I went upstairs and there on the bed,” ‘e said,
“In a great wakening light was an angel.”
She said, “Th’ art pissed again.”
“Nay,” ‘e said, “Nay, I tell thee true”
and ‘e convinced ‘er of the sincerity of the Word of the Lord.
And so she packed ‘er pension book and ‘er ‘Ula ‘Oop and ‘er roller skates
And together with Lot and ‘is son and ‘is son’s wife
They left the twin cities of Sodom and Gomorrah at quarter to twelve
Just as the ‘eavens opened and God dropped his big balls of fire out of the sky.
One fell right on t’ gasworks and the other ‘it the pie and peas shop up the road.
And as they skated out of the city of Sodom
They saw a red glow in the sky before them.
“I must look back,” said Lot’s wife.
“Nay,” he said, “Look not back else dire prognostications will befall thee.”
“Nay,” she said, “I must look back,” she said,
“Them Arkwrights at 32 will be t’ first to get it, dirty buggers.
An before Lot could stop ‘er , lo, she ‘ad looked back
And bang, smoke , she were turned into five foot two of Sifta Salt.
Well, Lot skated on out of the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah
On across the plains of Irlam toward Wigan.
And after forty days and twentyone and an ‘alf nights
Wandering in the deserts of Wigan
‘e sat ‘imself down in the shade of a plastic palm tree left behind by Cecil B. De Mille
and ‘e began to weep
and the tears rolled down ‘is cheeks as the rain from ‘eaven.
“Weep not, Father,” said ‘is daughter, “for I will make thee a gradely pan of chips,
‘cos,” she said, ” I’ve got five pounds of Edwards stuck down the leg of me tights.”
She said, “It made roller skating a bit ‘ard at first,” she said, “But I’ve got ’em now.”
And she cooked ‘im a gradely pan o’ chips and put a plate of chips on Lot’s lap.
And Lot still wept and the tears rolled down ‘is cheeks as the rain from ‘eaven
And his daughter spake unto ‘im and said, “Father, why weepest thou ?”
“Oh,” he said, “I wish thy mother were ‘ere.”
“‘Ow is that ?” said the daughter,”For thou liketest ‘er not when she was alive
and gave ‘er knuckle butty and finger pie.” she said
“Nay,” he said, “I wish thy mother were ‘ere, I can’t stand chips without bloody salt !”