My Adulterous Self

God, forgive my lustrous soul
My covetous eye balls
And my self-raising meat dough
Forgive the nuns that have backslid
As a result of let’s say my ‘fine’ language

I am aware of Saul
The one on his horse he fell
Throw me too the ball
And end to my heart so sore
And my mind so restless

Let me bring back the nuns
Let them drop their short skirts
And wear the long ones that I ripped apart
Lower my self-raising dough
Lower my urge for the pointy tits
The white teeth
And the rounded hips
But one thing I plead,
Let me still be attractive