| 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. |