As I took inventory at the office yesterday,
I got a call from Pat McKee, for he had passed away.
He said, "I know you're busy, God, but please lend me your ear.
I'd really like to check the rates in Heaven for this year."

He said he was inquiring on his present state of sin,
And wondered what the chances were that I could get him in.
I said, "I find your paperwork is signed and notarized,
But there's another thing you need that I just realized.

"Before I crack the Pearly Gates and let you come on through,
I need to find a tenant here who'll stand and vouch for you."
I polled the population, and I told him he should know
That I could find no takers here but plenty down below.

I said, "I checked the field reports and find that you're depraved.
And I would not be too surprised if you could not be saved.
I'll let you off not going to church, though that does cause me pain,
But I can't stand those million times you took My name in vain.

"About My ten commandments that you paid so little heed:
I wouldn't have written them down for you if there had been no need.
That time that you played doctor with that little girl next door.
At first I thought, 'I'll let that pass,' But you were fifty-four.

"Now you were cheating on your wife, and I can't let that go,
But for your information, Pat, I think that you should know
That she's been sleeping with your brother for about three years,
And they are bound for Vegas when your life insurance clears.

"Remember when your cousin died? They searched both near and far,
And finally found you drinking with his wife in Kelly's Bar.
That fracas with your parents, Pat. What was that all about?
You moved them in and spent their money; then you moved them out.

"So after all is said and done, and judgments have been made,
The chances of you lodging here are meager, I'm afraid.
I've got your application and certificate of death,
But while you're waiting for a room, I wouldn't hold your breath."