Look at the forks in the hands of the diners,
They're like bibles in the hands of the priests,
Like guns in the hands of the killers.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
It’s been fifty years since my last confession.
Please pass the salt and the ammunition.
I’ve drawn a bead on the waiter,
You take out the chef. And relax, go with it.
This place has wonderful desserts.
They serve them right after communion.