The devil just keeps on playing my song.
"Excuse me, mister,
But the roof is full of rotting babies.
The ocean's black with decaying flesh."
Well, what a thing to say at the table.
Oh yeah, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.
Well, go on and chew your food,
Talk about sports, weather, and stocks,
And all the things that keep you from putting a gun in your mouth.
But the roof is full of rotting babies.
The ocean's black with decaying flesh."
Well, what a thing to say at the table.
Oh yeah, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.
Well, go on and chew your food,
Talk about sports, weather, and stocks,
And all the things that keep you from putting a gun in your mouth.