My name is Jehovah, I made the world over
Six days which were periods of time.
There were aeons, let's face it, of watching this space
While I made the primordial slime.
There were plenty of ways of my counting the days off,
And my calendar could have been bust,
But the temperature soared, and a God can be bored
When he quick-dries quintessence of dust.
The world was no quickie. I pulled the odd sickie,
Dividing the dark from the light.
Such work's all distraction – creative inaction –
And you never get everything right.
I did what I liked. I spent ages on strike.
Some days I made big, others small.
Some days I made something to sing to or swing to.
Some days I made 'Nothing At All'.
I made Man in my fashion, but made a slight hash on
The day I conceived humankind.
My celestial chainsaw cut out half its brain. For
This I'm to blame. Never mind.
How great can a sucker be, dear Mr. Huckabee?
I certainly messed up the climate.
The world's in poor shape – but then I am an Ape.
A hundred per cent, son. Your Primate.