Skin of My Teeth

Another Sunday morning
Hung over and blue
Smelling like cigarettes and beer
My mouth is dry
Got blood-shot eyes
And my head’s splitting in two
Church bells ringing in my ear
The high-steeple crowds are filling up those sancutary pews
But I’m just gonna hang around my crib
Cause I don’t like dressing up
I don’t own a pair of Sunday shoes
And I refuse to be another hypocrite
Oh well now drinking with a cross
I’m not really a righteous man
Oh, but I’m not lost
And when I meet my maker
I know He’s gonna smile at me
And I’ll make it to heaven
By the skin of my teeth
My grandma told me, «boy, you better straighten up,
Cause you’re swervin down a bumpy road»
She said, «put that damned ol' bottle down and pick your bible up»
«Get back in church, put on a choir robe»
Oh but I can’t see myself falling in line behind the preacher (hell)
He’s probably more messed up than me
Always talkin 'bout damnation
Cursing every nonbeliever
Who’s he to judge?
Who’s he to condem me? oh
Well now drinking with a cross
I’m not really a righteous man
Oh but I’m not lost
When I meet my maker
I know He’s gonna smile at me
And I’ll make it to heaven
By the skin of my teeth
I’m half a loser
I’m half a winner
I’m half a saint
And I’m half a sinner
Feed my soul on Sunday dinner
I’m every man of God
When times get hard I hit my knees
And I praise the Lord when He blesses me
I do my best to keep him pleased
I’m every man of God
I’m every man of God
Well now drinking with a cross
I’m far from a righteous man
Oohh but aren’t we all
When I meet my maker
I know He’s gonna smile at me
And I’ll make it to heaven
By the skin of my teeth
Well, I’ll make it to heaven
By the skin of my teeth
By the skin of my teeth yeah