Sung by the Choir

Holy, holy, holy, sang the choir,
From singing holy seemed to never tire,
We were told it was an anthem grand,
Sung in churches through the land.

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Much we’ve heard of Holy Writ,
But never heard of singing it,
It’s what the preacher talks about,
The choir just holy, holy, shout.

When the choir the anthem gave,
Some we heard about it rave,
All that we could understand,
Was holy, holy, holy-land.

Holy, holy, on they sang,
The church with holy, holy, rang,
They kept right on to holy sing,
We thought a change the proper thing.

The tenor holy, holy, holy, said,
Until he seemed as nearly dead,
Then holy, holy, sang the base,
With holiness upon his face.

Soprano had a holy time,
The alto wasn’t far behind,
Each had tried their vocal range,
Still, from holy not a change.

Through this anthem that we heard,
But holy not another word,
The song was just a lavish noise,
To fill you with a lot of joys.

They call this music very fine,
Sung by the choir in perfect time,
Here’s the music we prefer,
A Studebaker engine’s purr.

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—The Car with Character.