Three Sheets to the Wind

I'm addicted to using my hands.
Every cigarette on the front porch is a performance of sorts in the
Worst way,
And I can't sing when I'm hungry.
So cut up a slice of Jesus Christ
For Sunday brunch and tell the crying children to shut up.
I've had enough, I've had enough.
Hey man, it's alright—don't start a fight.
You'll take the edge off some way someday.
Communion came and went,
And now I'm one, two, three sheets to the wind.
One two three sheets to the wind, and that's a cardinal sin.

So Father, I'm here to confess.
I'm kind of drunk and I'm wearing your dress.
Why the fuss? Hey! I'm kidding, alright?
But don't my ass look great in these fishnet tights?
And I took a big bite of that Jesus Christ
For Sunday's lunch.
And goddamnit! Won't those kids ever shut up?
I've had enough,
Ain't you had enough?
And I'd got in that fight
'cause I'd drank all that wine
It's just the flesh and blood taste oh so holy
Hell, I'm born again.
And I'm one two three sheets to the wind.
I'm one to three sheets to the wind,
And that's a cardinal sin.