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The bugger in the short sleeves fucked my wife |
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Did it quick and split |
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Back home, fresh as a daisy to maisy, oh maisy |
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And the twelve-bore it stood in the corner |
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Quite operatic in its self disgust |
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It blew him all over the living room floor |
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Like parrot shit, parrot spit, parrot shit was shot |
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Now suppose it was someone familiar |
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Someone we all would know |
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Embarrasing denouement, ne c'est pas? |
|
Familiar hyperbole |
|
And there would go the secret plot |
|
The piss had missed the hole in the pot |
|
Like that ancient teenage dream |
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From soul to poison soul to poison soul |
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Guts, guts, got no guts |
|
And stitches don't help at all |
|
Guts, guts, got no guts |
|
Holes in the body, holes in the legs |
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Holes in the forehead, holes in the head |
|
Holes in the body, holes in the legs |
|
There should never be holes at all |
|
There should never be holes at all |
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So: kill all you want or more |
|
Make sure, do it right |
|
Dead is dead, and door nails forget |
|
And then you'll notice |
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How the waster and the wasted |
|
Get to look like one another |
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In the end, in the end |
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In the end, in the end |
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In the end, in the end |
|
In the end, in the end |
