John went to the doctor,
To ease his woes,
The news was not good,
But that's how it goes,
The quack said “John”,
“Say a prayer to Saint Francis”,
“Because 'tween you and me”,
“I don't fancy your chances”,
“Your organs are worn out”,
“Your body is shot”,
“Your eyes have gone yellow”,
“And you're dribbling snot”,
John was quite shocked,
And in such a state,
He'd come in with piles,
And now faced heaven's gate,
The news was unwelcome,
The outlook was bleak,
He'd bought Wembley tickets,
And they're playing next week,
He sadly went home,
He went home by bus,
Alone on the top deck,
And there he met Gus,
Old Gus was a pastor,
A preacher of note,
He knew every prayer,
He'd learnt them by rote,
Gus spoke to John,
And learned of his plight,
And after their journey,
They'd visit mass tonight,
They entered the church,
John sat in a pew,
He turned round to Gus,
And said, “What should I do?”,
Gus said, “Just pray man!”,
“You pray for your soul”,
He prayed his poor heart out,
John was on a roll,
John's sight became clearer,
His pains became less,
He turned to thank Gus,
His saviour to bless,
But Gus was not there,
Instead stood St. Michael,
Black leather jacket,
And heavenly motorcycle,
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