|
Well, I've got a machine, yeah. |
|
I keep it under my bed. |
|
Why don't you come on over, baby? |
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And let me feed on your head. |
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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, |
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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. |
