...but We Go To Church Every Sunday Lyrics

You put that cigarette to your lips and I twitch in my seat like a rat.
I'm sick of being unacknowledged and I'm sick of talking sex/death.
I'm telling lies! My eyes is red!
Her life revolves around books and bed... Will she tell her friends?
Black dye rubbing off on her hands, black tie so she knows you're a man.
The evidence is all around, but she swears she's leaving town.
If I see your face on the up-and-up, why are we both on the down-and-out?
That girl ain't no good, and she don't know good!