| Cleavers up, bring 'em here | |
| Femurs all swing on the ceiling like a chandelier | |
| She sittin' there in a white dress, looking like she should get it | |
| Licking the lips of the reddest, should invest in a head clinic | |
| She got a pocket full of incisors and pliers | |
| In a briefcase in case she get inspired, she ain't | |
| She tryin' to suck face off the bone | |
| You should know she is prone to swallow the marrow | |
| She gettin' her evil on down on the floor | |
| See how the drinks are flowing off of the top shelf | |
| Men are fla*****ng their belt buckle and wallet leather clock | |
| And they can't stop watching they're jockin' em | |
| While she rockin' them 8 inch stilettos | |
| Ain't into metal, just leather and lace and the taste of oxidation | |
| Lay still and let her let, like leeches suck | |
| She might let you **** but she want | |
| [Hook] | |
| Body and blood | |
| She don't need you for *****t but your **** and your veins | |
| And your guts and your (body and blood) | |
| Every man say she thick and they wish they could bang | |
| When she strut, she got (body and blood) | |
| Nails did, hair did, body right, teeth white | |
| Knives sharp, gettin' (body and blood) | |
| If you a bad *****, let 'em know you ain't out for the dough | |
| You want (body and blood) | |
| Twerk somethin' girl, twerk somethin' girl, twerk somethin' girl | |
| Cut somethin' girl, cut somethin' girl, cut somethin' girl | |
| Kill somethin' girl, kill somethin' girl, kill somethin' girl | |
| Eat somethin' girl, eat somethin' girl, eat somethin' girl | |
| She got her own home, she got her own set of power tools | |
| Her own unmarked van, plan meticulously laid out | |
| And splayed on the walls, all scrawled on dated Polaroids of seven heads plated | |
| She got vials of ketamine, rohypnol, and promethazine, blunts with amphetamines | |
| And whatever your pleasure be, medically, she readily be | |
| Providing the flags sometimes to dine with the finest of wines | |
| Try and you'll find cut glass to get you cut fast without cuttin' | |
| She got a diamond tattoo on her upper thigh | |
| Another fineness walks by and cuts eyes | |
| She let her go, she got a bad little body | |
| Plus a mean walk, mean ass, make jaws slack | |
| But the black make-up match the black makeup | |
| Bag of black clippers and steel and chrome-dip slick black handled switchblades she flips, she gettin | |
| [Hook] | |
| Candles by the mirror, perfume on the dresser, yes sir | |
| Red sheets made of satin, flowers in the bible drying | |
| Red wine in the goblet, golden Trojan wrappers | |
| Chainsaw motor revving outside, bloodstains on the carpet | |
| Elbow-length gloves, thigh high fishnets, and the garter | |
| God's son crucified on her necklace, hang just where breasts heave | |
| And by the cheek, got a machine | |
| Make 'em pray that the sex life in death, she goes | |
| And when she body rolls, see how the party go dumb | |
| And the pills dissolve, tongue ***** and room revolve | |
| More than a few will fall, black light and new resolve | |
| She gettin' | |
| [Hook] |
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