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At the Gate St. Peter stood guard at the golden gate With a solemn mien and an air sedate, When up to the top of the golden stair A man and a woman ascending there, Applied for admission. They came and stood Before St Peter, so great and good, In hope the City of Peace to win - And asked St. Peter to let them in.

The woman was tall and lank, and thin, With a scraggly beardlet upon her chin. The man was short, and thick, and stout, His stomach was built so it rounded out. His face was pleasant, and all the while He wore a kindly and genial smile. The choirs in the distance the echoes woke, And the man kept still while the woman spoke.

"O, thou who guardest the gate" said she, "We two come hither beseeching thee To let us enter the heavenly land And play our harps with angel band. Of me, St. Peter, there is no doubt, There's nothing from heaven to bar me out, I've been to meeting three times a week, And almost always I'd rise and speak.

I've told the sinners about the day When they'd repent of their evil way, I've told my neighbors - I've told them all 'Bout Adam and Eve, and the Primal Fall, I've shown them what they'd have to do