A stones throw from heaven
To bad they close at eleven
Guess I'll be eating with the devil again
He doesn't care about all my sin
We'll talk and laugh and drink some gin
We'll play pinochle and I'll let him win
I'll never have to worry about being cold
I won't be blinded by the street's of gold
I'll play fetch with his hound
Won't have to worry about that heavenly crown
We'll smoke a bowl and get real high
Won't have to worry about how angels fly
We'll crank that metal music up till the earth shakes
No worrying about being tested till I break
I'll be there with the rest of the primates
No  more worrying about those locked pearly gates