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Whatâs a pretty little thing like you
Doin' in this dingy old back room?
I got some candy,
A piece for every bruise.
You can grab it if itâs handy, cuz any cockâll do.
Now dance to the beat of the slow, slow turn
Of the world as it weeps in this slow, slow burn.
And the shoes on your feet ainât set to return.
Iâm the one whoâs walking out alone.
You wonât need those sandals where youâre going.
Cuz little baby, you ainât ever goin' home.
And the last sounds that youâll ever know
Are the vultures crying Whoa-whoa-whoa,
whoa-no
And soon theyâll be picking at your bones.
They'll be picking at your bones
They'll be picking at your bones
Whoa-whoa-whoa
I caught you in the bathroom in a real wide stance.
I caught you down by the lagoon with my hands down your pants
On an old dirty mattress with stains and yellow scarves
I start out watching then I get so hard.
And you wonât need that mattress where youâre going.
And Iâm the one whoâs walking out alone.
And mister, you ainât ever going home.
Cuz the last sound that youâll ever know
Is my bonesaw grinding Whoa-whoa-whoa,
whoa-no
Soon weâll be chipping at your bones.
We'll be chipping at your bones
We'll be chipping at your bones
Whoa-whoa-whoa
Every single plan I make has been informed by these sour grapes.
Iâve got one last death to fake before I settle down
On the last burning block of the last burning town
Where the devil and behemoth have been hanging around
And I donât miss that old crowd.
I do not miss that old crowd.
So goddamned lazy and loud.
And the last sound that Iâll ever know is my heart exploding
Whoa-whoa-whoa,
whoa-no
Soon Iâll be nothing but these bones.
I'll be nothing but these bones
I'll be nothing but these bones
I donât need this bullshit where Iâm going.
And I donât think Iâm ever going home.
And Iâm the one whoâs walking out alone
So bitch, quit your fucking crying.