| On Mondays murder children, little girls and boys
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| I put my hands around their throats till they don’t make a noise
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| Tuesdays torture animals, pluck off small birds wings
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| Watch them as they bleed to death, then they don’t sing
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| Wednesdays I defecate on the priest’s front door
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| If the priest he does complain, I just do it some more
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| Thursdays I Molatov the local orphans home
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| Love those little orphans, charred down to the bone
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| I’m terrible, terrible, shouldn’t be allowed
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| To sing my songs of filth to a decent crowd
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| On Fridays sodomize tender virgin nuns
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| Tie them up, lear at them, and then I have my fun
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| Saturdays I stand and sing my sad, sad, sick, sick songs
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| To anyone who listen, who in the head is wrong
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| Sundays, Sundays, the day I love the best
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| Rape, murder, pillage while other people rest
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| I’m terrible, terrible, shouldn’t be allowed
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| To sing my songs of filth to a decent crowd
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| I’m terrible, terrible, shouldn’t be allowed
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| But when I do offend someone it makes me feel so proud |