TheDeceased
Ex-Bluelighter
Corpses
Fucking butter menthol chewing astronauts
Floating weightless through self-induced delerium
Retirement of the soul has left holes in their brains
Though they seem to walk and breathe, they aren’t really there
Ghosts with fingerprints; Like headless chickens, they roam in circles
Commenting on the weather, blood soaked feathers and all
Oh zombie grandmother can we smother you already
And put you out of your fucking misery?
You’re like a talking steak on my dinner plate
Re-animated flake, battered and swimming nowhere
I hate your wrinkled face and your funky smell
If you don’t want to do it yourself for fear of going to hell
Then I’ll kill you (It’d be my pleasure)
Blugeon you to death with your dentures or a bed pan
Leave you with more dignity than you’re heading towards
Cause at the moment you shit yourself and drool
You’re nothing but a decrepit mumbling rancid old fool
So let me shove a pillow in your face, nan
Or beat your scull in with a medi-eval mace
I don’t want a fucking crocheted hat
Or anything made of lace for that matter
Your as batty as the Mad Hatter on a bad day
You nightmare, you ghoul, go away and fucking stay that way
Die grandma, die
And then at least I can get high
On the inheritance
Fucking butter menthol chewing astronauts
Floating weightless through self-induced delerium
Retirement of the soul has left holes in their brains
Though they seem to walk and breathe, they aren’t really there
Ghosts with fingerprints; Like headless chickens, they roam in circles
Commenting on the weather, blood soaked feathers and all
Oh zombie grandmother can we smother you already
And put you out of your fucking misery?
You’re like a talking steak on my dinner plate
Re-animated flake, battered and swimming nowhere
I hate your wrinkled face and your funky smell
If you don’t want to do it yourself for fear of going to hell
Then I’ll kill you (It’d be my pleasure)
Blugeon you to death with your dentures or a bed pan
Leave you with more dignity than you’re heading towards
Cause at the moment you shit yourself and drool
You’re nothing but a decrepit mumbling rancid old fool
So let me shove a pillow in your face, nan
Or beat your scull in with a medi-eval mace
I don’t want a fucking crocheted hat
Or anything made of lace for that matter
Your as batty as the Mad Hatter on a bad day
You nightmare, you ghoul, go away and fucking stay that way
Die grandma, die
And then at least I can get high
On the inheritance
