Who's to judge who's a saint and who's a sinner?
Lord it's tough enough to trudge from brunch to dinner
We seek the light of truth between our white lies
And sleep away our youth under tattle-tale skies
Who's to say who's a sinner and who's a saint?
Who's to say who you can love and who you can't?
It's easy for the pot to call the kettle black
When jealous of the hot and lusty sordid lives they lack
Ain't it a bitch sortin' out our sordid lives?
It's a bitch when you come to realize
Crack yourself a box of Cracker Jacks
You could get a really shitty prize
It's a bitch sortin' out our sordid lives
We struggle comin' down the shoot to take our first breath
Then we struggle for acceptance from birth to death
But the Lord's too busy tryin' to keep the world on its feet
He ain't got time to give a damn 'bout what goes on between the sheets
Ain't it a bitch sortin' out our sordid lives?
It's a bitch when you come to realize
Crack yourself a box of Cracker Jacks
You could get a really shitty prize
It's a bitch sortin' out our sordid lives
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