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