I got a church down the street from me, one of them Protestant churches that has services on Saturday nights when good people are already out drinkin’ and chasing pussy around the bar. As y’all probably know I don’t trust nobody that don’t drink at least a little here and there, and I sure don’t trust nobody that goes to a church on a Saturday night. Goin’ to church on a Saturday night is sacrilege I say.
If you go to God’s house on a Saturday night, you ain’t doing no better than folks who piss on a grave in my eyes. Saturday night is for drinkin’ and getting’ drunk, and God knows it cause he made it that way. Why the hell would the good lord have made it Saturday night if he didn’t want folks getting drunk and havin’ a good time? Don’t make no sense. If he wanted us to be in Church every God-damned day he would have made em all Sunday. Then I’d always know what day it was too.
So they throwed me out of the Union bar a little early this Saturday night. Usually they let me stick around until at least eight O’clock, but I guess I was carousing a bit and I hit a fella with a chair and kicked a lady in the crotch, so I guess it was time to head outside and get me some air. Boy that lady was mad too! Acted like she was better than everybody else, talking in a British accent and drinking coffee and acting like she didn’t never have a drink or two, so she got what was coming to her.