Ban Preacher Greed!

The Chicken Chest
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The Chicken Chest
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The Chicken Chest

By Patricia Backora

 

(spoken to soft organ music)

 

In church one afternoon

Bud was thinkin' bout the rent and the light bill too

When the preacher said next  time

I'm gonna talk about the tithe

Now let's hear no lame excuses

If anybody out there refuses

It's only you that loses

Better put God to the test

Or you'll miss out on His best.

 

Bud heard his stomach growl

As the preacher preached real loud

If you don't pay a tenth

You're guilty of a big sin

So you'd better come forward and repent.

 

Bud knew that old preacher well

Remembered how he'd sit a spell

In his boyhood home so long ago

He'd sip iced tea and wouldn't go

Till Ma got busy in the kitchen.

 

If the preacher smelled fried chicken

He'd shoot the bull and stay

But if it was fried liver day

He'd soon be on his way

To visit rich folks down the road

Who always had a roast

The preacher would go to sit a spell

He'd stay until the dinner bell.

 

On fried chicken day it was a safe bet

That a long-winded guest they were gonna get

The preacher was always asked to stay

And say grace over the chicken plate

The preacher was asked to pick his piece first

The pieces the grownups left were the worst

The neck, the gizzard, the back and the wings

But Bud was too scared to say anything.

 

Bud acted polite but inside he fumed

To not get his fair share of the food

Bud fed those chickens every day

Watered them, collected their eggs

As the oldest, Bud caught the birds to kill

Cleaned 'em for Ma 'cause the sight made her ill

But the best Bud could get was a bony back

The wishbone went to the youngest, Jack.

Bud was tired of bein' fed scraps

One day Bud just up and snapped.

 

Poor hungry Bud did something sneaky

During grace when the preacher wasn't peekin'

Bud pinched the chicken breast off the platter

Put it in his pocket to nibble on later

But Old Blue snuck in while heads were still bent

That hound picked Bud's pocket before the "amen"

 

Pa heard Old Blue a-chewin' some food

Pa opened his eyes from sayin' grace

Guilt was written all over Bud's face

Blue sniffed at Bud's pocket to look for more

Bud's grease stains caused a big uproar

When Pa asked Bud how the hound had been fed

Bud confessed:"I pinched a breast!"

 

Bud remembered the whuppin' he got

But the preacher watchin' sure hurt a lot

Bud went to bed without any supper

But later Bud got the news from his brother

How the preacher’s plate was piled high to the sky

And how he inhaled one half of the pie.

 

Funny how the preacher preached on fastin’

Even while his waist was expandin’

From all those missions of mercy he made

To roast beef, chicken, catfish and cake.

 

Bud reminisced as he sat in his pew

Hardly hearin' all the gobbledygook

About how blessed it is to tithe

To preachers who live a luxurious life.

 

Bud recalled how his own life had been a hard ride

A struggle to feed his kids and his wife

How a mean Scrooge landlord had raised his rent

At Christmas time when Bud didn't have a cent

All the pinto beans Bud said grace over

While the preacher got famous and grazed in clover.

 

Now it was high time Bud got redress

For all those thighs and chicken breasts

Bud stood up straight and raised his voice

Now at last I've got a choice!

Bud said he’d already paid his tithe

Bud opened his Bible and told the preacher why.

 

Pastor, Bud said, I think Malachi 3:10 spells out

How the Lord wanted food, not money in His House

Leviticus 27 verse 30

Says the tithe is the fruit of the land and the tree

In Deuteronomy 14 verse 23

The tithe was farm food for folks to eat!

 

And there was hardly ever enough food on MY plate

Even though no chicken in our coop felt safe.

You used to be a bachelor preacher

When I was a kid I recall you were meeker

All the folks fed you 'cause you couldn't cook

They did it joyfully 'cause you taught the Good Book.

 

You lucked out and married a rich man's daughter

Then you climbed higher and higher up  the ladder

But my wife and I y’all never did invite

For supper though you kept on takin' our tithes

 

Fine thanks for all them years of meals

Used and bruised, that’s how you made us feel

Dirt farmers in dungarees don't match your décor

You didn't need us or our chicken no more

Just money from the invisible poor.

 

No, I ain't gonna tithe on my leftover  five

I’ll state my case in a way that’s polite

I pinched the wrong part when I was a kid

And pa shore gave me a whuppin’ for it

Now I’ll git my guitar and sing my new hit:

 

* * * * *

(singing part, growing in intensity  toward the end)

 

When I was a kid you robbed my chicken coop

Now you raid my piggy bank and drive a Lexus coupe

Though you've made your millions you're always wantin' more

Money from the hungry poor.

 

Jesus always said to take the lowest seat

But you’d always manage to pinch the nicest meat

From my father’s chair you’d say a purty prayer

But I never got my share.

 

Don't tell me more lies about your preacher tithe

You already got it when you gobbled up my thigh

While I got the back you ate  the very best

The crispy juicy chicken  chest.