| Guitar thug blew into town
|
| His eyes like wheels spinnin' round
|
| Jerkin-off at every sound
|
| Layin' all his crosses down
|
| O yeah
|
| He got Six Strings
|
| The Six Strings that drew blood
|
| The bar is full of Holy-Joes
|
| A Holy-hole-a-whole-aria
|
| Around the neck of our consumptive rose
|
| Is the root of all his sorrows
|
| O yeah
|
| He got Six Strings
|
| Six Strings that drew blood
|
| A Holy-hole-a-whole-aria
|
| Six Strings that drew blood
|
| In the bathroom under cover
|
| He turns on one tap to discover
|
| He’s smashed his teeth out on the other
|
| Well he look in the mirror and say
|
| Don’t fuck me brother
|
| Cause I got Six Strings
|
| Six Strings that drew blood
|
| Numbin' the runt of reputation they call rat fame
|
| Top-E as a tourniquet
|
| A low tune whistles across his grave
|
| Forever the master and the slave of his Six Strings
|
| A Holy-hole-a-whole-aria
|
| Six Strings that drew blood |