| O, Lord! I would have prayed to thee |
| Five separate times a day, |
| But hidden was the impetus, |
| Unbuilt the place to pray. |
| Now WAPDA has, by God’s grace, shown |
| Hot penitents the way, |
| By building an air-conditioned mosque, |
| To cool us as we away. |
| No more shall prayers pass through a haze |
| Of pious sweat, decay. |
| No flies, no baser insects, |
| Shall on our cleansed parts play. |
| Instead the pure ethereal air, |
| From the humming far away, |
| Shall fill our lungs, our hearts, our minds, |
| “Thank God, for God with Frigidaire”. |
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