Don't call him Lenny or Len. It's Lionel.
He likes to drink brandy and listen to vinyl.
Schubert, Beethoven and Mozart all float
His perfectly kept metaphorical boat.

On weekends he meets with his fellow bell-ringers.
Their heavenly ringing annoys the hell singers
Who sing in the choir. They burnt an old car.
On a fine summer evening, when seen from afar

The flames of the car looked a lot like a candle.
When they perform the Messiah by Handel
These vandals are angels who couldn't melt butter
In mouths that will never resemble a gutter

When uttering words in their angelic voices.
Their language is never as complex as Joyce's.
As soon as they set foot on secular ground
It's like a pet dog who turns into hell's hound.

They shout and they swear and they make fun of people.
They're like this while still in the shade of the steeple.
Their favourite form of violence is verbal.
They smoke cigarettes they refer to as 'herbal'.

They drink foreign beer that is cheaper than water.
Alcohol is the director and author
Of most of the mayhem that trails in their wake.
Its script made them steal a four-tier wedding cake.

They ate some themselves and they gave some to cows.
They've studied how trousers of all sizes trouse,
Housing two legs along with sundry bits,
Let out on Sundays or housed in The Ritz,

The best Sunday trousers that money can buy,
With room for a robin to nest in and fly.
They've noticed that trousers are better off off.
Instead of a hat, it's better to doff

Your lower half's clothing. It's like saying 'cheers'.
The singers had been stealing trousers for years
When they realised that it's more fun to fill
These garments with cake. It gives them a thrill.

One man protested at their bad behaviour.
He said that you'd need a small guard dog to save your
Clothes from becoming a vessel for food
That you haven't digested or tasted or chewed.

The choir were unhappy that he should complain.
Their new aim in life was becoming his bane.
They spread margarine on the seats of his car
And then added jam while he drank in a bar.

Lionel decided that action was needed.
The warnings of jam sandwich cars, he heeded.
After much thinking he formed a good plan.
His weapon was Robert, a peace-loving man.

Robert brought calm to the most hostile places.
His words would erase seething anger from faces.
Serenity reigned each time he was around.
People who'd look for their teeth on the ground

Would end up instead in the lotus position.
Discussions on wrestling would turn towards Titian.
He'd saunter through riots and whistle a song.
He'd bring warmth and joy to an unruly throng.

Lionel convinced him to sing with the choir.
He'd be the best blanket to smother their fire.
And so far he's had some effect on this mob,
Though he seems to shudder when they call him Bob.

They no longer swear and their shouting has been
Curtailed to occasional venting of spleen.
Their alcohol intake's been greatly reduced.
Their insults and put-downs are now quotes from Proust.

But he's changed as well. He wears a T-shirt
That says 'I'm a Spider'. He's started to flirt
With Sheila, his neighbour, who loves making pies,
And saying 'Let's take off our clothes' with her eyes.