| Pop the lock box swingin' the sledge
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| My freezer full of body parts:
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| Legs, arms and heads
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| I keep the intestines in bottles right up under my bed
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| A batch of bladders bottled up in the shed
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| I chuckled and said
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| «Steven keep it cool and come walking in my direction
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| Nothing personal, I need your intestines for my collection»
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| Fetching for a serial killer
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| But not fo' rilla
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| No protection when I’m snatching your bladder like it was thriller
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| Pounced on him like a gorilla
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| Then vertically flipped the butterfly knife
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| Covered his mouth, turned him over, stabbed him in the back twice
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| Now in a pity the blood is starting to come out of his body
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| Plus the front door is unlocked and the lights are still on in the lobby
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| Somebody’s home, drag the body knocked over the phone
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| With a Collie growling at the gate that won’t leave me alone
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| See I realised the mess I made dragging him out the trunk
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| Plus I’m too faded to operate then cleaned it all up
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| Visual Shutdown
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| Stitch with a serial killer shuts down
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| Killing Steven because there wasn’t no sluts 'round
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| Dragging a 365 pound carcass around
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| Not suspected just because I ain’t the weirdest in town
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| I was making the nightly rounds in my dusty police cruiser
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| Working the graveyard, alcoholic abuser
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| Kahlua in my coffee
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| Box of donuts on the dash
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| Creepin' at 15 miles an hour with a limp foot on the gas
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| Passing by dark houses its lights out, its looking quiet
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| A burst of a barking dog in the night
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| Breaking the silence
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| I put on my front lights and my brights
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| Straining my eyes trying to find a sign of violence
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| With an anxious pain in my privates
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| I spied it-
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| What looked to be a Collie on a leash
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| On the other side of the gate with red stains on its feet
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| Hopping out of the cruiser
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| Approaching the place with gun drawn
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| Danger was inherent but upon me it doesn’t dawn
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| So I stumbled along the lawn trying to be cautious
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| Shaking my head to get sober
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| The blood’s making me nauseous
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| Swallowing hard, scared
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| Following bloody paw prints
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| Knowing that the killer was close in my subconscious
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| I heard some footsteps
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| Either the dead is walking or the gig’s up
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| I heard something inside the house
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| Its time for my pace to pick up
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| Blood on the patio for that little Collie to lick up
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| I put my gun in the holster started picking my night stick up
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| Too much evidence
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| Its evident I’m not alone in residence
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| So I expose the blade again except without the hesitance
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| So who’s there
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| Answer or I’m coming out and stabbin'
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| Put your hand up and weapons down
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| This is officer Gavin of the KC police
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| We’ve got the property surrounded
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| Shit I don’t believe in that when no sirens have even sounded
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| Got a running start at the house
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| And put my shoulder to the door
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| I broke the hinges, lost my balance
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| Dropped my night stick on the floor
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| It made a splash
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| Focused on the horror scene before me
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| Feeling this real life not a Stephen King story
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| I felt the knife hot in my back
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| He must have stabbed me from behind
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| And then again in the same spot but much harder this time
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| I’m giving in
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| He’s twisting it
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| Scraping against my spine
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| Blood running down my sides
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| Body parts (Body parts) |