| Some people call me the Creeper
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| 'Cuz they don’t know my name or face
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| I got 'em running in circles
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| Because a homicidal genius never leaves a trace
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| I’m a lonely hunter
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| City full of game
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| Walkin' in the neon lights
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| Chop, chop, chop, engine of destruction
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| Chop, chop, chop, a perfect killing machine
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| Chop, chop, chop, it’s a symbiotic function
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| Chop, chop, chop, I keep the city so clean
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| Chop, chop, chop
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| Some people call me the Ripper
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| Stole my modus operandi from the movie screen
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| She’s just a celluloid stripper
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| Just another bloody player in my splatter-filled dream
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| Women on the streets
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| Want money when we meet
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| I take them for a little ride
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| Chop, chop, chop, engine of destruction
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| Chop, chop, chop, a perfect killing machine
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| Chop, chop, chop, it’s symbiotic function
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| Chop, chop, chop, I keep the city so clean
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| Chop, chop, chop
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| She was standing on the corner
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| With her bright red lips
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| Her face was so white and pale (so pale)
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| She had a black leather skirt
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| That was tight to her hips
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| And an anklet with a name
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| It spelled M A R Y… Gail
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| Gail Gail Gail Gail
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| Gail Gail Gail Gail |