@victorrobertfarrell
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© 2025 Victor Robert Farrell (PurpleRobert)
 Writers: Kentucky Johnson & Bobby Farrell 🌐 www.kentuckyjohnson.com

Presented by Mr. Farrell’s Sound Parlour -🌐 www.soundparlour.music

ISNI 0000 0005 2730 5864

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without prior written permission. This composition is protected under international copyright law. Performance rights reserved.

For licensing, publishing, or permissions, visit:
🌐 www.PurpleRobert.com

For live performance or broadcast registration, list the writer as:
 Victor Robert Farrell (PRS / Songwriter & Composer)
Alternate credit: PurpleRobert

Support the show

@victorrobertfarrell
 Don’t Forget to Subscribe! THX 😊

© 2025 Victor Robert Farrell (PurpleRobert)
 Writers: Kentucky Johnson & Bobby Farrell 🌐 www.kentuckyjohnson.com

Presented by Mr. Farrell’s Sound Parlour -🌐 www.soundparlour.music

ISNI 0000 0005 2730 5864

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without prior written permission. This composition is protected under international copyright law. Performance rights reserved.

For licensing, publishing, or permissions, visit:
🌐 www.PurpleRobert.com

For live performance or broadcast registration, list the writer as:
 Victor Robert Farrell (PRS / Songwriter & Composer)
Alternate credit: PurpleRobert

Support the show

@victorrobertfarrell
 Don’t Forget to Subscribe! THX 😊

© 2025 Victor Robert Farrell (PurpleRobert)
 Writers: Kentucky Johnson & Bobby Farrell 🌐 www.kentuckyjohnson.com

Presented by Mr. Farrell’s Sound Parlour -🌐 www.soundparlour.music

ISNI 0000 0005 2730 5864

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without prior written permission. This composition is protected under international copyright law. Performance rights reserved.

For licensing, publishing, or permissions, visit:
🌐 www.PurpleRobert.com

For live performance or broadcast registration, list the writer as:
 Victor Robert Farrell (PRS / Songwriter & Composer)
Alternate credit: PurpleRobert

Support the show

@victorrobertfarrell
 Don’t Forget to Subscribe! THX 😊

© 2025 Victor Robert Farrell (PurpleRobert)
 Writers: Kentucky Johnson & Bobby Farrell 🌐 www.kentuckyjohnson.com

Presented by Mr. Farrell’s Sound Parlour -🌐 www.soundparlour.music

ISNI 0000 0005 2730 5864

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without prior written permission. This composition is protected under international copyright law. Performance rights reserved.

For licensing, publishing, or permissions, visit:
🌐 www.PurpleRobert.com

For live performance or broadcast registration, list the writer as:
 Victor Robert Farrell (PRS / Songwriter & Composer)
Alternate credit: PurpleRobert

OPEN INVITATIONS (6/7)

‘Seven Poems For Seven Churches (6 of 7-Philadelphia)’

 “Come in!

Come in!

Come in right quick! For

The door is always open in 

My holy [i]bailiwick. 

Come in!

Come in!

‘Cause I’m jangling all my keys!

The door is always open in King 

David’s [ii]diocese. 

Come in!

Come in!

Escape this 

Time of trial!

Laid upon that 

Synagogue of Satan, that’s 

Rancid, 

Rank, and 

Vile. 

Come in!

Come in!

You weak-

Made-strong-Confessors! And

Separate yourselves from those 

Sah-tan-ic Professors. 

Come in!

Come in!

Hold all your stuff right fast,

‘Cause all I’ve got prepared for you is frankly, 

Unsurpassed. 

Come in!

Come in!

Before I bolt this door! And

I make of you all a pillar, upon my 

Clear-as-crystal floor. 

Come in!

Come in!

‘Cause I’m coming very soon!

A [iii]flashing piece of lightning across

A [iv]blood-red moon.

I say

A flashing piece of lightning across

A blood-red moon.”

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[Verse 1]  
Come in, come in, the door is wide and swingin’  
The keys are janglin’ loud and the Gospel choir is singin’  
King David’s porch light’s burnin’ bright—  
The table’s laid for saints tonight  

[Chorus]  
Come in! Come in!  
The door is always open—come in!  
Come in! Come in!  
There’s supper set and freedom from our sin  
Come in! Come in!  
Don’t miss the call, don’t wait too long—  
He’s buildin’ pillars outta pilgrims  
And the welcome home's still strong  
So come in… come in…  

[Verse 2]  
Come in, come in—there’s fire on the mountain  
The lies flow thick like tar from a poison fountain  
The devil’s got a preacher’s smile—  
But heaven waits the extra mile  

[Chorus]  
Come in! Come in!  
The door is always open—come in!  
Come in! Come in!  
There’s supper set and freedom from our sin  
Come in! Come in!  
Don’t miss the call, don’t wait too long—  
He’s buildin’ pillars outta pilgrims  
And the welcome home's still strong  
So come in… come in…  

[Verse 3]  
Come in, confessors, weak-made-strong  
Step right away from the devil’s song  
Hold fast your soul and don’t look back—  
There’s glory down this gospel track  

[Chorus]  
Come in! Come in!  
The door is always open—come in!  
Come in! Come in!  
There’s supper set and freedom from our sin  
Come in! Come in!  
Don’t miss the call, don’t wait too long—  
He’s buildin’ pillars outta pilgrims  
And the welcome home's still strong  
So come in… come in…  

[Bridge]  
There’s a flashin’ piece of lightning  
Across a blood-red moon  
And I say He’s comin’ quickly  
And I say He’s comin’ real soon  
There’s a knockin’ at the doorway  
Like thunder in your chest—  
This ain’t no bedtime story—  
It’s the judgment and the rest  

[Final Chorus]  
Come in! Come in!  
The time is nearly gone—come in!  
Come in! Come in!  
Let grace begin again  
Come in! Come in!  
With your soul and suitcase packed—  
There’s a seat at the table,  
And there’s no salt like pillar lookin’ back  
So come in… come in…  

[Outro]  
“Come in...  
Come in...  
Before I bolt this door…”

@victorrobertfarrell
 Don’t Forget to Subscribe! THX 😊

© 2025 Victor Robert Farrell (PurpleRobert)
 Writers: Kentucky Johnson & Bobby Farrell 🌐 www.kentuckyjohnson.com

Presented by Mr. Farrell’s Sound Parlour -🌐 www.soundparlour.music

ISNI 0000 0005 2730 5864

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without prior written permission. This composition is protected under international copyright law. Performance rights reserved.

For licensing, publishing, or permissions, visit:
🌐 www.PurpleRobert.com

For live performance or broadcast registration, list the writer as:
 Victor Robert Farrell (PRS / Songwriter & Composer)
Alternate credit: PurpleRobert

Support the show

[Verse 1]
Sardis shit her Sunday whites,
Spilled her wine and killed the lights,
Built her name on dead men's bones,
Waltzed with ghosts and called it home.

Dressed in garb from Fitch & Frank,
Perfume sour and spirit rank,
Dragged her soul up to the throne,
Like a club-foot zombie, all alone.

[Chorus]
You’re dead, girl, dead, can’t you see?
A walking lie in finery.
Built your trust in rust and rot,
And thought the Lord would just forgot.
But names get crossed,
And books get read—
You’re dead, girl...
Stone cold dead.

[Verse 2]
Blinded by men’s sweet applause,
You broke the rules, then changed the laws.
Dignity? Divinity?
It’s sunk and smashed—ain’t hard to see.

You sold your faith for bricks and gold,
For whispers in the church that’s cold,
And now you stagger, proud and cursed,
A zombie bride rehearsing verse.

[Chorus – Repeat]
You’re dead, girl, dead, can’t you see?
A walking lie in finery.
Built your trust in rust and rot,
And thought the Lord would just forgot.
But names get crossed,
And books get read—
You’re dead, girl...
Stone cold dead.

[Bridge]
You traded fire for Sunday charm,
A calloused hand for false alarm.
You swapped the watchtower for the clock,
Now you’ll hear that midnight knock.

[Verse 3 – Soft or spoken]
I’ll come when least expected,
And you’ll find yourself rejected.
No fame, no claim, no final breath,
Your name erased...
Your song is death.

[Final Chorus]
So rattle them chains, the Judge ain’t waitin’,
Your good-time gospel’s long past datin’.
You danced with death in Sunday lace—
Now fire’s flirtin’ with your face.
You played the bride but kissed the grave,
Your hymns were hollow, dressed to save.
But heaven’s still got one last rope—
So grab it, sinner—swing or choke.


[Outro – Spoken Word]
Wake up.
This ain’t a drill.
Reset your midnight watches...
Or lie still.

@victorrobertfarrell
 Don’t Forget to Subscribe! THX 😊

© 2025 Victor Robert Farrell (PurpleRobert)
 Writers: Kentucky Johnson & Bobby Farrell 🌐 www.kentuckyjohnson.com

Presented by Mr. Farrell’s Sound Parlour -🌐 www.soundparlour.music

ISNI 0000 0005 2730 5864

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without prior written permission. This composition is protected under international copyright law. Performance rights reserved.

For licensing, publishing, or permissions, visit:
🌐 www.PurpleRobert.com

For live performance or broadcast registration, list the writer as:
 Victor Robert Farrell (PRS / Songwriter & Composer)
Alternate credit: PurpleRobert

Support the show

And He spoke a parable to them: "Can the blind lead the blind? Will they not both fall into the ditch? (Luke 6:39 NKJV)

I am so bored of church. I am so bored in church. I am so bored of all the seeker-sensitive claptrap.

I’ve been to hundreds of churches—homogenised, cloned zombies, the walking dead—mostly populated by grandmothers, children, asylum seekers, strange men in strange jumpers, unmarried professional women, divorcees, deviants in disguise, and a few cool, twiggy-armed boys with plooks and guitars.

This happened because of the strange symbiotic atmosphere between the hipster talker and the unchallenged dwindlers—now all kidding themselves with the language of the “celebration worship experience” and stirred-up revivals. Nonsense!

Yes, nonsense is what we were left with when we traded the straight-talk preach of the I AM for the inclusive, culturally inoffensive language of compromised, cowardly coolness—and then dressed it all up in countdown technology. That one hour of dumbness, peppered with a little “talk,” spread like cancer through our spirit-being.

It is all too late now. I tell you, even if you “break the bloody glass, you won’t hold up the weather.” Damp darkness is upon us; the dwindlers of the night are dying.

PERFORMANCE TIPS |  

Delivery & Rhythm: Perform to the same skirl and gallop as Louis MacNeice’s “Bagpipe Music.” Maintain its breathless, percussive nonsense-poem cadence.

Theme Shift: MacNeice’s original lamented Highland cultural decline in the 1930s. Your piece targets the church’s spiritual decimation by modern slickness. Keep that edge front-and-centre.

Tone: Sarcastic, urgent, unapologetic. Let each absurd detail land like a jab, but let the final lines drop into a dead-serious warning.

Audience Shock: ???? “shall supersede this rubbish.” Deliver that line as a prophetic overturning—sharp, deliberate, unavoidable.

Form: Treat the legacy church as a poem riddled with “bad feminine rhymes.” Hammer that metaphor home by exaggerating every off-rhyme and clashing image.

https://youtu.be/n72XebBaMeI?

[HOOK]
It’s fine, it’s cool, it’s awesome,
It’s national prayer at Wembley!
[VERSE 1]
It’s brill-i-ant, resil-i-ent,
It’s project name and vision,
It’s clueless, bookless internet—
A clicking mouse decision.
[HOOK]
It’s fine, it’s cool, it’s awesome,
It’s national prayer at Wembley!
[VERSE 2]
It’s empty, harmless, fluffy,
It’s flashing lights, it’s coffee,
It’s donuts, clubs, and T-shirts,
It’s a bowl of chocolate toffees.
[HOOK]
It’s hands in pockets up the front, and
It’s a “Sorry if I’m preachy,”
[VERSE 3]
It’s hands in pockets up the front, and
It’s a “Sorry if I’m preachy,”
It’s coloured purple corduroy,
A plastic fruit that’s not quite peachy.
[HOOK]
It’s fine, it’s cool, it’s awesome,
It’s national prayer at Wembley!
[VERSE 4]
It’s the white of Converse trainers,
It’s a flat and floppy canvas,
It’s smoke, and jokes, and a trail of dopes
With no evidence to hang us!
[HOOK – VARIATION]
Break the glass, break the glass—
But you won’t hold up the weather!
[VERSE 5]
It’s dead, it’s dying, lying,
It’s self-deception and it’s passing—
It’s de-trained men at Auschwitz,
All lined up for the gassing.
[HOOK – FINAL]
It’s fine, it’s cool, it’s awesome,
It’s national prayer at Wembley!
Break the glass, break the glass—
But you won’t hold up the weather!

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The simple believes every word, but the prudent considers well his steps. (Proverbs 14:15 NKJV)

Where there is no counsel, the people fall; But in the multitude of counsellors there is safety. ( Proverbs 11:14 NKJV)

Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful. (Proverbs 27:6 NKJV)

I have bathed in the glittering visions

Of many a bluster-blower, and

Ignored all the warning noises

That bounced off the walls of my

Well-bullied ‘knower.’

Yes, I’ve chewed on the verbalised goo, my friends, and

Gulped down the plunk, plink, and fizz,

Singing:

“When it sounds far too good to

Be true, me boys, then

It most likely and

Probably is!”

I have wedded the big blow-up doll, my friends,

Embedded with ‘come to bed’ eyes, and

Danced on the deck of the Hesperus

Financed by a large pack of lies.

Yes, I’ve sucked up their green snots of flu, my friends, and

Imbibed on their pale pots of piss

(and that’s what it is),

Singing:

“When it sounds far too good to

Be true, me boys, then

It most likely and

Probably is!”

So—no more to the fair or the fleecing,

No more to those high hills of hope,

For the man that is constantly bitten, my friends,

Is a fool and a festering dope!

Yes, I’m done with the hugs and the muggings, and

I’m done with sweet fellowship’s kiss—

For:

“When it sounds far too good to

Be true, me boys, then

It most likely and

Probably is!

Yes,

When it sounds far

Too good to be true, me boys—

Know for sure that it

Probably is!”

© 2012 Victor Robert Farrell AKA Purple Robert All Rights Reserved

Support the show

The simple believes every word, but the prudent considers well his steps. (Proverbs 14:15 NKJV)

Where there is no counsel, the people fall; But in the multitude of counsellors there is safety. ( Proverbs 11:14 NKJV)

Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful. (Proverbs 27:6 NKJV)

I have bathed in the glittering visions

Of many a bluster-blower, and

Ignored all the warning noises

That bounced off the walls of my

Well-bullied ‘knower.’

Yes, I’ve chewed on the verbalised goo, my friends, and

Gulped down the plunk, plink, and fizz,

Singing:

“When it sounds far too good to

Be true, me boys, then

It most likely and

Probably is!”

I have wedded the big blow-up doll, my friends,

Embedded with ‘come to bed’ eyes, and

Danced on the deck of the Hesperus

Financed by a large pack of lies.

Yes, I’ve sucked up their green snots of flu, my friends, and

Imbibed on their pale pots of piss

(and that’s what it is),

Singing:

“When it sounds far too good to

Be true, me boys, then

It most likely and

Probably is!”

So—no more to the fair or the fleecing,

No more to those high hills of hope,

For the man that is constantly bitten, my friends,

Is a fool and a festering dope!

Yes, I’m done with the hugs and the muggings, and

I’m done with sweet fellowship’s kiss—

For:

“When it sounds far too good to

Be true, me boys, then

It most likely and

Probably is!

Yes,

When it sounds far

Too good to be true, me boys—

Know for sure that it

Probably is!”

© 2012 Victor Robert Farrell AKA Purple Robert ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Support the show

The [i]Dartford tunnel 

Took its toll on our patience and our love and

My wife, trapped in traffic,

Fumed like an old kettle, fit to explode.

At home and with time on my hands and mischief in mind,

I turned to my mistress so fragrant and kind, and 

Took the time to ‘get it on’ once more.

 In the lavender filled washing liquid flavored air

Which oozed out of the white, wet tray above 

The virgin white cube’s glass porthole,

To the background Brazilian Bossa nova rhythm of 

The dirty dish washer 

I quickly put her on the cooker top and 

Screwed her lid right off!

Know what I mean boys?

Sure, my wife’s revolving bra’s and pants 

In shocked surprise

Pressed their face against the glass and

[ii]Criticized my efforts, but this was a 

Well-practiced event now, 

A quick and illicit

Hunger-panging 

[iii]Guilt-ridden

[iv]Aluminium pan banging affair

‘Cause you see, me and Mrs.. Sharwood, well, 

[v]We got a thing goin' on  and 

Though we both know that it's wrong 

It’s just much too strong 

To let it go now

Beaten by a 4lb hammer 

The [vi]Diamond wood grenade 

Unmercifully split the [vii]knotted hazel

Bringing the proud and unyielding log to its knees

Like a Pole axe pounded into a pink pigs head, and so

Stripped of its Samson like strength 

Its long grained meat now lay crackling in the fire.

“Just one more screw” 

I thought

“Before she barges through the door” and

The cork, 

Sucked out of the brown bottle’s neck

Bounced to exhaustion on the kitchen floor

Sweet and sour chicken and some long grain rice

Thawed the fiery ice of commuter madness, and 

Served in front of a red hot roaring fire 

With some chilled white wine 

Unlike the M25, speedily

Turned winter into summer in 

Double quick,

Quick double time

“Thank you my dear” 

She said, 

“That was lovely” and 

“All that effort!”

“Yeah,” I thought

“You poor deluded thing.” 

Little did she know that me and Mrs. Sharwood, well, 

We got a thing goin' on  and though we 

Both know that it's wrong 

It’s just much too strong 

To let it go now

© 2012 Victor Robert Farrell

[i] Travelling anti-clockwise and North on the M25 will bring you to the Dartford Toll Tunnel which runs  under the river Thames for nearly 1.5km.
[ii] My lovely wife, bless her, can’t help herself giving me advice in the kitchen! I think it’s because she has to clean up after me.
[iii] At the time of writing, I hated the fact that at this point in our lives, it was mostly my wife that was seen to have a ‘proper job’, you know, one that brings in a steady wage. I hate the fact that she comes home so tired. I just hate it. Mind you, I have done it myself as well!
[iv] If you are from the USA please feel free to insert Aluminum!
[v] "Me and Mrs. Jones" is a soul song written by Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff, describing an extramarital affair between a man and his lover, Mrs. Jones.
[vi] This is a fantastic device which splits logs into four! Worth every penny, even if it’s just to annoy the neighbours with all the banging. Of course I was making a nice warm cosy fire.

Support the show

The [i]Dartford tunnel 

Took its toll on our patience and our love and

My wife, trapped in traffic,

Fumed like an old kettle, fit to explode.

At home and with time on my hands and mischief in mind,

I turned to my mistress so fragrant and kind, and 

Took the time to ‘get it on’ once more.

 In the lavender filled washing liquid flavored air

Which oozed out of the white, wet tray above 

The virgin white cube’s glass porthole,

To the background Brazilian Bossa nova rhythm of 

The dirty dish washer 

I quickly put her on the cooker top and 

Screwed her lid right off!

Know what I mean boys?

Sure, my wife’s revolving bra’s and pants 

In shocked surprise

Pressed their face against the glass and

[ii]Criticized my efforts, but this was a 

Well-practiced event now, 

A quick and illicit

Hunger-panging 

[iii]Guilt-ridden

[iv]Aluminium pan banging affair

‘Cause you see, me and Mrs.. Sharwood, well, 

[v]We got a thing goin' on  and 

Though we both know that it's wrong 

It’s just much too strong 

To let it go now

Beaten by a 4lb hammer 

The [vi]Diamond wood grenade 

Unmercifully split the [vii]knotted hazel

Bringing the proud and unyielding log to its knees

Like a Pole axe pounded into a pink pigs head, and so

Stripped of its Samson like strength 

Its long grained meat now lay crackling in the fire.

“Just one more screw” 

I thought

“Before she barges through the door” and

The cork, 

Sucked out of the brown bottle’s neck

Bounced to exhaustion on the kitchen floor

Sweet and sour chicken and some long grain rice

Thawed the fiery ice of commuter madness, and 

Served in front of a red hot roaring fire 

With some chilled white wine 

Unlike the M25, speedily

Turned winter into summer in 

Double quick,

Quick double time

“Thank you my dear” 

She said, 

“That was lovely” and 

“All that effort!”

“Yeah,” I thought

“You poor deluded thing.” 

Little did she know that me and Mrs. Sharwood, well, 

We got a thing goin' on  and though we 

Both know that it's wrong 

It’s just much too strong 

To let it go now

© 2012 Victor Robert Farrell

[i] Travelling anti-clockwise and North on the M25 will bring you to the Dartford Toll Tunnel which runs  under the river Thames for nearly 1.5km.

[ii] My lovely wife, bless her, can’t help herself giving me advice in the kitchen! I think it’s because she has to clean up after me.

[iii] At the time of writing, I hated the fact that at this point in our lives, it was mostly my wife that was seen to have a ‘proper job’, you know, one that brings in a steady wage. I hate the fact that she comes home so tired. I just hate it. Mind you, I have done it myself as well!

[iv] If you are from the USA please feel free to insert Aluminum!

[v] "Me and Mrs. Jones" is a soul song written by Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff, describing an extramarital affair between a man and his lover, Mrs. Jones.

CHORUS | Me and Mrs. Jones
We got a thing goin' on
We both know that it's wrong
But it's much too strong
To let it go now

We meet every day at the same cafe
Six-thirty

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Reckless Rednecks on I49

Barefoot children at the Five & Dime

Black men shakin’, slidin’ skin

Pick-up trucks with nothin’ in

An extra syllable in evr’y vowel

Sealed flannel sheets and fresh-up towels

De-caff coffee

Diet coke

Well-dressed Christians and a hairy goat

Grits with jelly in the Waffle House

Crushed armadillo and a white wooden house

[i]Skeeter bugs a-dancing on black-eyed peas

Wal Mart 

K-Mart 

Plastic cheese

Plates that are full with more and more

Dirt in the corners at the [ii]Piggly Wiggly store

Strange verbal pointers to a guy called Booodah

Sweet & Low as a substitute for sugar

Porches full of rockers and swinging chairs

Blue perm rinses

Nasal hairs

Bland white cream on pecan pies

[iii]Hell mad preachers, all wearing ties

Lightest blues 

Largest skies

Darkest cheeks 

Whitest eyes

De-caff, diet

Racial riot

‘[iv]Look Out’ mountain 

What a si-yat

[v]Hillary being pilloried in pounding pulpits

Passion for possession of presidential pundits

AN [vi]ELEPHANT, AN ELEPHANT, 

A SMALL PINK PIG

Small English people where everything is big 

White-collar necks that [vii]don’t give a fig

Don’t give a fig for a [viii]hot cross bun

Don’t give a fig for a man without a gun

For a man without a gun 

Ain’t got no stature

A man without a gun 

Don’t like [ix]Mrs. Thatcher

Mrs. Thatcher, Mrs. Thatcher

What a gal!

Ronny Reagan what a pal!

England and America 

Bonded ties

England and America 

Don’t tell lies

Don’t tell lies about [x]dogs in prison

Don’t tell lies about any ‘ism’

Socialism 

Communism

[xi]Baptist schism

Split apart

Break my heart

Separation 

Desolation

Bringing down of [xii]evil nation

Evil nation, makes you think!

Blacks and white are on the brink

Ice rink, blue ink, kitchen sink

[xiii]Presidents that cause a stink

High and mighty you may frown

[xiv]I WILL BRING YOU DOWN 

Copyright Victor Robert Farrell AKA Purple Robert 2015

Support the show

Reckless Rednecks on I49

Barefoot children at the Five & Dime

Black men shakin’, slidin’ skin

Pick-up trucks with nothin’ in

An extra syllable in evr’y vowel

Sealed flannel sheets and fresh-up towels

De-caff coffee

Diet coke

Well-dressed Christians and a hairy goat

Grits with jelly in the Waffle House

Crushed armadillo and a white wooden house

[i]Skeeter bugs a-dancing on black-eyed peas

Wal Mart 

K-Mart 

Plastic cheese

Plates that are full with more and more

Dirt in the corners at the [ii]Piggly Wiggly store

Strange verbal pointers to a guy called Booodah

Sweet & Low as a substitute for sugar

Porches full of rockers and swinging chairs

Blue perm rinses

Nasal hairs

Bland white cream on pecan pies

[iii]Hell mad preachers, all wearing ties

Lightest blues 

Largest skies

Darkest cheeks 

Whitest eyes

De-caff, diet

Racial riot

‘[iv]Look Out’ mountain 

What a si-yat

[v]Hillary being pilloried in pounding pulpits

Passion for possession of presidential pundits

AN [vi]ELEPHANT, AN ELEPHANT, 

A SMALL PINK PIG

Small English people where everything is big 

White-collar necks that [vii]don’t give a fig

Don’t give a fig for a [viii]hot cross bun

Don’t give a fig for a man without a gun

For a man without a gun 

Ain’t got no stature

A man without a gun 

Don’t like [ix]Mrs. Thatcher

Mrs. Thatcher, Mrs. Thatcher

What a gal!

Ronny Reagan what a pal!

England and America 

Bonded ties

England and America 

Don’t tell lies

Don’t tell lies about [x]dogs in prison

Don’t tell lies about any ‘ism’

Socialism 

Communism

[xi]Baptist schism

Split apart

Break my heart

Separation 

Desolation

Bringing down of [xii]evil nation

Evil nation, makes you think!

Blacks and white are on the brink

Ice rink, blue ink, kitchen sink

[xiii]Presidents that cause a stink

High and mighty you may frown

[xiv]I WILL BRING YOU DOWN 

Copyright Victor Robert Farrell AKA Purple robert 2015

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Copy Right 2025 - Bobby Farrell - All Rights Reserved

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Copy right 2025 Kentucky Johnson & Bobby Farrell - All rights reserved

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RESTORED HALLELUJAH’S

O restored Hallelujahs and triple shouts of joy!

For all the sons of God who were once her whipping boys

Are now all safely gathered in and prepared to take their part

The earth their great reward for all their ripped out hearts

Thrown down, thrown down, thrown down!

N’er to be found here anymore

No songs, no sounds, no sordid lamps

No more perpetual states of war.

Loud voices of our vengeance for God’s vehement visitation

Is now poured upon that slut and her bastard nasty nation. 

For the blood of prophets slain upon 

The altar which they swore, has now danced in vindication On that vanquished bloody whore! 

Thrown down, thrown down, thrown down! 

N’er to be found here anymore, 

No songs, no sounds, no sordid lamps, 

No more perpetual states of war.

That spread-legged harlot of corruption, 

That Great Bustard that black swan,

Is now stripped before the nations and marked as

‘Mystery Babylon.’ 

Thrown down, thrown down, thrown down! 

N’er to be found here anymore, 

No songs, no sounds, no sordid lamps, 

No more perpetual states of war.

Fine linen clean and bright 

Is for the bride now well prepared, 

The supper cooked with lamb and wine, 

No gold or silver spared. 

Raised up, raised up, raised up! 

Like Christ her conquering King, 

See the love’s  new eternal covenant 

Bound by her Lover’s red blood ring

© 2016 Victor Robert Farrell

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RESTORED HALLELUJAH’S

 O restored Hallelujahs and triple shouts of joy!

For all the sons of God who were once her whipping boys

Are now all safely gathered in and prepared to take their part

The earth their great reward for all their ripped out hearts

Thrown down, thrown down, thrown down!

N’er to be found here anymore

No songs, no sounds, no sordid lamps

No more perpetual states of war.

Loud voices of our vengeance for God’s vehement visitation

Is now poured upon that slut and her bastard nasty nation. 

For the blood of prophets slain upon 

The altar which they swore, has now danced in vindication On that vanquished bloody whore! 

Thrown down, thrown down, thrown down! 

N’er to be found here anymore, 

No songs, no sounds, no sordid lamps, 

No more perpetual states of war.

That spread-legged harlot of corruption, 

That Great Bustard that black swan,

Is now stripped before the nations and marked as

‘Mystery Babylon.’ 

Thrown down, thrown down, thrown down! 

N’er to be found here anymore, 

No songs, no sounds, no sordid lamps, 

No more perpetual states of war.

Fine linen clean and bright 

Is for the bride now well prepared, 

The supper cooked with lamb and wine, 

No gold or silver spared. 

Raised up, raised up, raised up! 

Like Christ her conquering King, 

See the love’s  new eternal covenant 

Bound by her Lover’s red blood ring

© 2016 Victor Robert Farrell

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O soul within my soul

Be not as silent as the grave

Speak tenderly to me O LORD

From doubt, come rescue, save

O soul within my soul

O light within my head

Deliver me from darkness 

Deliver me from dread

O soul within my soul

O spring of pure delight

Bubble up to cool my heated breast

To calm my quaking fright

O soul within my soul

O brimming brook within me

Rise up and overflow my banks

Of rotting rubbish rid me

O soul within my soul

O slayer of that which slew me

Come balm of Gilead anoint my head

In purity, renew me 

 © 2016 Victor Robert Farrell

Support the show

O soul within my soul

Be not as silent as the grave

Speak tenderly to me O LORD

From doubt, come rescue, save

O soul within my soul

O light within my head

Deliver me from darkness 

Deliver me from dread

O soul within my soul

O spring of pure delight

Bubble up to cool my heated breast

To calm my quaking fright

O soul within my soul

O brimming brook within me

Rise up and overflow my banks

Of rotting rubbish rid me

O soul within my soul

O slayer of that which slew me

Come balm of Gilead anoint my head

In purity, renew me 

© 2016 Victor Robert Farrell

Support the show

O soul within my soul

Be not as silent as the grave

Speak tenderly to me O LORD

From doubt, come rescue, save

O soul within my soul

O light within my head

Deliver me from darkness 

Deliver me from dread

O soul within my soul

O spring of pure delight

Bubble up to cool my heated breast

To calm my quaking fright

O soul within my soul

O brimming brook within me

Rise up and overflow my banks

Of rotting rubbish rid me

O soul within my soul

O slayer of that which slew me

Come balm of Gilead anoint my head

In purity, renew me 

© 2016 Victor Robert Farrell

Support the show

🎶 Holler Hallelujah

A Front-Porch Praise Song That Don’t Hide the Scars
 Written by Kentucky Johnson™ & Bobby Farrell
© 2025. All rights reserved. For more, visit www.KentuckyJohnson.com

Verse 1

I ain't got no glitzy choir robe, I ain't got no shiny pew,
 Just this busted rocking chair and an all clear back porch view.
 But I got me breath and I got me the truth,
 And I’m shoutin’ to the heavens like the hills still do.

Chorus

Holler hallelujah, raise it to the sky—
Even when it’s broken, even when you cry.
Holler hallelujah, don’t wait ‘til you’re clean—
Praise Him in the mud, 

in the mess,

 in between.

Verse 2

Ain’t no steeple in my backyard, just that old lonesome pine,
 But the Spirit found me anyway, in God’s own gracious time.
 Don’t need no stage to lift my voice and sing—
 Just a pounding porchboard pulpit and a rusty old swing.

Chorus

Holler hallelujah, raise it to the sky—
Even when it’s broken, even when you cry.
Holler hallelujah, don’t wait ‘til you’re clean—
Praise Him in the mud, 

in the mess,

 in between.

Verse 3

I got sorrow in my story, but I still got a shout,
 The grave it tried to hold me, but His grace done pulled me out.
 Ain’t no shame in the struggle—just the fire and the fight,
 Now I’m singin’ like the sunrise despite one hell of a night.

Final Chorus and outro

Holler hallelujah when the devil draws near—
 Holler hallelujah ‘til the valley rings clear.
 Holler hallelujah with your scars and with your grin—
 Let the wild-hearted worship come a crashin’  on in.

Yeah, holler hallelujah
 → He don’t own this ground!

Yeah, holler hallelujah
 → We were lost—but now we’re found!

Yeah, holler hallelujah
 → Ain’t no devil ever gonna hold us down!

C’mon people –

Holler hallelujah when the devil draws near—
 Holler hallelujah ‘til the valley rings clear.
 Holler hallelujah with your scars and your grin—
 Let the wild-hearted worship come a crashin’  on in.

Yeah, 

hallelujah! 

Bless you Lord.

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by Kentucky Johnson

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by Kentucky Johnson

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From Kentucky Johnson

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Rev Rufus Vernon Flint - www.kentuckyjohnson.copm

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