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