[******** Sundays...

The sun is out and I can't wait find my next fix
I'm high on for rock n' roll and I don't need to see that crucifix
I rather be thrashing outside in the beating sun
Then confined in this dark room listening to these hypocrites

Mother ******** Sundays
You have a choice to leave

At least I pretend to be cannibal
And consume the body of Christ
After that we can get doughnuts in lounge
To fuel our gluttonous voice

Mother ******** Sundays
Watch these bastards breed

The priest cannot be found
He must be counting the donations
They the saying is for the greater good
But I know it's for social abortions

Mother ******** Sundays
Make them ******** bleed