He refused to sing on Sunday mornings , said it was 'not his occupation . '
When all hell was breaking loose on the news one day the only thing that passed his lips was "Please pass the biscuits .."
When the towers fell that ghastly morning he looked up from the newspaper later that evening and softly said "There's gonna be some trouble ." And on the day he passed five years later my gift for gab left for good as well ...