The whole gang of us joined in on the opening hymn in decent harmony, but after that first line or two, confusion set in as to the lyrics, and the singing became ragged and pitiful, maybe blasphemous.
Niagra sighed. “Please stop! this singin’ is a flop – we don’t know the words, and he don’t deserve ‘em if we did.”
Smoke dropped the song midstanza.
You’re right, hon,” he said. “Piss on him.”