deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Church of Harsh Truth
Hypocritical bitch that’s rich
Coming from you
Church on Sunday
Sin on Monday
And the rest of the week too
Sundays spouting pious praise
Then coming home to me
Condemning my wicked ways
Well fuckin’ glory be!
So I like a drink, live on the brink
Gamble now and then
Tried sticking to yours
Yeah, I go with whores
You’ve just yourself to blame
First you’ve got a headache
Then you’re on the rag
Ain’t no good time baby
For you n’ me to shag
Yet you been with that preacher man
I know that for a fact
Self righteous bastard, holy Joe
I saw you’s in the act
I looked through the window
After church the other day
You were kneeling down before him
An’ you weren’t there to pray
Then you dragged your drawers off
And leaned across a pew
Never did that kinda action
When we used to screw
So don’t you come a preachin’
You sanctimonious cow
Pack yer bags and piss off quick
And baby I mean now.
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