You were born from sinnAnd if that ain't a cursenThan I don't know what isnnLike Abraham and altarnThe son you can't keepnWould the shepherd shed the bloodnOf his most precious sheepnnDid Job ever pondernThe price of his pietynWas Methuselah tirednDid Lazarus want sleepnnPraise be ThomasnFor fingering the woundn'Cause if he had his doubtsnThen perhaps we should toonnAnd does the bride begnFor a barren wombnDid God give the giftnOf a gamble to you