Sorded Lives Tabulatur von Olivia Newton John

A.                                            D
Now who's to judge who's a saint and who's a sinner 
A.                                            D
Lord, it's tough enough to trudge from brunch to dinner
 A                                            D
We seek the light of truth between our white lies
A                            E               A     
We sleep away our youth under tattletale skies

A                                             D
Now who's to say who's a sinner and who's a saint
A                                             E
Who's to say who you can love and who you can't
A                                         D
Now it's easy for the pot to call the kettle black
A                     E                     A
They're just jealous of the hot and lusty sordid lives they led
                                               D
Ain't it a bitch sortin' out our sordid lives
A                                             E
It's a bitch when you come to realize
A
got yourself a box of Cracker Jacks
                                             D#m
then you get a really shitty prize
          A                      E         A
It's a bitch sortin' out our sordid lives
D
Now we struggled comin' down the chute to take our first breath
A
and we struggle for acceptance from birth to death
D
But the Lord's too busy tryin' to keep the world on it's feet
B                                            E
He ain't got time to give a damn about what goes on between the sheets
               A                              D
Ain't it a bitch sortin' out our sordid lives
A                                             E
It's a bitch when you come to realize
A     
got yourself a box of Cracker Jacks
D#m 
then you get a really shitty prize
A                          E                 A
It's a bitch sortin' out our sorry little sordid lives


When the Lord dips us in the gene pool
We get more than Granny's green eyes
We get our Mama's warmth
Our Daddy's cool
And that thang between our thighs
And that's the start of all these troubles
In our sordid lives

Ain't it a bitch sortin' out our sordid lives?
It's a bitch when you come to realize
Crack yourself a box of Cracker Jack
You could get a really shitty prize
It's a bitch sortin' out our sorry little sordid lives