A poem

Oh Mama, I can hear your voice.
"Our Father, Who art in Heaven."
But I can't go to church today,
the Broncos are getting seven.

Stay away from alcohol,
Just say no to pot.
Watch out for them easy ones son,
they make peter rot.

Live long and straight and clean and free,
and when you're old and bored and finally died.
You can go to heaven just like me.
Dwell on that with self-righteous pride.

So Lord, I stand before you
a little less Christian than the rest.
But I hope you'll realize
I always did my best.

I believe in miracles,
and I believe in fate,
and I met Jesus Christ one night
on an acid trip in '88.

All that I can really do
is live to live with me.
And if heaven's full of you front pew ladies,
then keep eternity.