Our fam il ies
have traditions,
we've heard them a thousand times.
Our ancestors were
unequivocally right.
They frequently went on missions, to very peculiar clans,
to lead the wretched heathen to the light.
Though some of them were beaten up and some of them stampeded,
though quite a lot were eaten up, a few of them succeeded.
On one of these expeditions,
an uncle we thought a bore,
Turned out to be more spirited than ever
he'd been before.
Poor
Uncle
Harry wanted to be a missionary,
So he took a ship and sailed away.
This visionary, hotly pursued by dear
Aunt
Mary,
Found a
South
Sea isle on which to stay.
The nat ives greeted them kindly
and invited them to dine
On yams and clams and human
hams and vintage coconut wine
The taste of which was filthy,
but the after -effects divine
Poor
Uncle
Harry got a bit gay and longed to tarry
This
Aunt
Mary couldn't quite allow
She lectured him severely on
a number of church affairs
But when she'd gone to bed he
made a getaway down the stairs
For he longed to hear the answer to a
few of the maiden's prayers
Uncle
Harry's not a missionary now
Now
Uncle was just a seeker,
a dreamer sin cerely blessed.
Of this there couldn't
be a shadow of doubt.
The fact that his flesh was weaker than even our merry
guests took even her some time to figure out.
In all those languid latitudes,
the atmosphere's exotic.
To take up moral attitudes would
be too idiotic.
Though nobody could be
meeker than
Uncle had been before,
I'll bet today he's giving way at practically every pore.
Poor
Uncle
Harry, having become a missionary,
found the natives' morals rather crude.
He and
Aunt
Mary swiftly imposed an arbitrary ban
upon them shopping in the mew.
They all considered this silly and
decided to rebel.
They burnt his boots and several suits,
which made a horrible smell.
The subtle implication was that
Uncle could go to hell.
Poor
Uncle
Harry, after some words with dear
Aunt
Mary,
thought the time had come to
make a round.
He lined up all the older girls
in one of the local sheds,
but while he was reviling them and
tearing himself to shreds,
they took their mother -hubbards off
and tied them around their heads.
Uncle
Harry's not a missionary now.
Poor
Uncle
Harry, after some tears from dear
Aunt
Mary,
called upon the chiefs for a pow -wow.
They didn't brandish knives at him,
they really were awfully sweet.
They made concerted di ves at
him and offered him things to eat.
But when they threw their wives at him,
he had to admit defeat.
Uncle
Harry's not a missionary now.
He's awfully happy,
but he's certainly not a missionary now.