| Well, I’ve got a machine, yeah. | 
| I keep it under my bed. | 
| Why don’t you come on over, baby? | 
| And let me feed on your head. | 
| Yeah, it’s make minced meat, | 
| Out of your legs and your feet, | 
| Cause I’m a corpse grinder, baby. | 
| Well, you know I love you, | 
| But ain’t life a drag? | 
| I wanna chop you up fine, | 
| And wrap you up in a bag, yeah. | 
| Will I see you later, | 
| In my refrigerator? | 
| I’m a corpse grinder, baby, yeah. | 
| You’ll stay good for months to come, | 
| At the back of the fridge, yeah, stay out of the sun. | 
| I’ll take you out when I’m on my own, | 
| And defrost you so we can be alone. | 
| Sharpen up the blades, yeah. | 
| Go, on, oil the wheels. | 
| Put your tongue on the belt, | 
| Go on, see how it feels. | 
| Well I know it’s a sin, | 
| But I’m gonna feed you in, | 
| 'Cause I’m a corpse grinder, baby. | 
| Well, you’ll stay good for months to come, | 
| Back of the fridge, go on, stay out of the sun. | 
| I’ll take you out when I’m on my own, | 
| And defrost you, baby, so we can be alone. | 
| Sharpen up the blades, go on. | 
| Go on, oil the wheels. | 
| Put your tongue on the belt, | 
| And tell me how it feels. | 
| Yeah, I know it’s a sin, | 
| But let me feed you in, | 
| 'Cause I’m a corpse grinder, baby. | 
| Well. | 
| I’m a corpse grinder-grinder baby, | 
| Well, I’m a corpse grinder, baby. | 
| Well, I’m a corpse grinder, baby, grinder, baby. | 
| Well, I’m a corpse grinder, baby, let me feed you in. |