A Blast from the Past. . . .
I wrote this one in the spring of 1987, after televangelist Oral Roberts announced that, unless his viewers coughed up $8 million, God would “call him home.” I set it to a possibly recognizable tune.

ORAL ROBERTS

Help! I'm Oral Roberts
Help! I'm a TV preacher
Help! I'm running out of funds
Help!

Mom always told me I'd do great things for the Lord
If I preached long-winded sermons, no one would get bored
But when I prayed the other day, I think God said to me
"You'd better get 8 million bucks, or you are history!"

Help me if you can -- time's running down --
Or pretty soon you won't have me to kick around
Don't let them put me six feet underground
Won't you please send money?

Then there’s our hospital, with beds in empty rows
We have to ship the patients in, else no one ever goes
But these med school scholarships cost more than I can give
If you help me help these kids, God might just let me live

Help me if you can -- time's running down --
Or pretty soon you won't have me to kick around
Don't let them put me six feet underground
Won't you please send money?

Mom always told me I'd do great things for the Lord
If I preached long-winded sermons, no one would get bored
But when I prayed the other day, I think God said to me
"You'd better get 8 million bucks, or you are history!"

Help me if you can -- time's running down --
Or pretty soon you won't have me to kick around
Don't let them put me six feet underground
Won't you please send money, money, money? Ooh. . . .