Too old for a visa, too young for the farm Too straight for the army, too gay for the guards If you’ve got no calling, no fella, no wife Have a bunk in the hall at Cape Christ
Walk a dowry down the aisle on a leash and a promise Hand on holster handing over the hostage On a dotted line date with a beard-slash-bride And need a Roman ransom? Think Christ
If you’re sick of the same ***** giving you grief Don’t lower yourself, turn the other cheek And if he breaks your jaw, then my advice? Don’t come running to me, blame Christ
Give the devil on your shoulder a little nibble Every now and again to keep things civil And before the tread’s worn off your conscience, right... Draw a cross in the air and call Christ
What do you sell the man who’s seen it all? Ketamine, bath salts, Adam and Paul If sir needle and pipes says he needs a new vice Pull the spiritual card and play Christ
When you’ve just reconciled yourself with death And they want a labrat for the time you’ve left When the doctors too fond of his own **** voice **** the medicine man, choose Christ
Have you been leading death on a wild goose chase? Trying to buy some time to clean your slate? Call a priest around, he’ll set things right When you’re ready to croak it, plead Christ
The Word rattles in the chests of the last clergymen Who drop dead like the devil overheard-ye-and The women look willing while the men look bored But they couldn’t trust women with the Word of the Lord
Unless the Eucharist feels like chiselling a nick Off the philosophers stone and swigging it quick-ly Down with a bottle of B Then I guess it’s not for me