| I'm a killer, and a gravedigger | |
| My stew will be made out of you | |
| I eat women, | |
| I'm a cannibal | |
| And a necrophiliac too | |
| I make bracelets out of bodies | |
| And coffee drums made with flesh | |
| Organs frying in my kitchen | |
| And the skin of your chest is my vest | |
| Ed Gein - | |
| He's crazy, | |
| He's mental, | |
| He's sick | |
| Ed Gein - | |
| The head of a girl in his sink | |
| Ed Gein - | |
| His soup bowl is made of a skull | |
| Ed Gein - | |
| Your face is a trophy on his wall | |
| I'm a fiend, | |
| I'm so morbid | |
| That I sleep with your organs at night | |
| And have sex with decaying bodies | |
| To me it's such a delight | |
| Then I'll eat them in my kitchen | |
| I will savour the mortal meal | |
| It's delicious, | |
| I'm excited | |
| Just the thought of gives me a thrill | |
| Ed Gein - | |
| He'll shoot you in the head | |
| Ed Gein - | |
| Then drag you home on a sled | |
| Ed Gein - | |
| He'll gut you in his woodshed | |
| Ed Gein - | |
| Does things to your corpse people dread |
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