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On Mondays murder children, little girls and boys |
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I put my hands around their throats till they don't make a noise |
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Tuesdays torture animals, pluck off small birds wings |
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Watch them as they bleed to death, then they don't sing |
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Wednesdays, I defecate on the priest's front door |
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If the priest, he does complain, I just do it some more |
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Thursdays, I Molotov the local orphans home |
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Love those little orphans charred down to the bone |
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I'm terrible, terrible, shouldn't be allowed |
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To sing my songs of filth to a decent crowd |
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On Fridays, sodomize tender virgin nuns |
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Tie them up, leer at them and then I have my fun |
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Saturdays, I stand and sing my sad, sad, sick, sick songs |
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To anyone who listen, who in the head is wrong |
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Sundays, Sundays, the day I love the best |
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Rape, murder, pillage while other people rest |
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I'm terrible, terrible, shouldn't be allowed |
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To sing my songs of filth to a decent crowd |
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I'm terrible, terrible, shouldn't be allowed |
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But when I do offend someone it makes me feel so proud |
