| Song | Cut, Gut, Beaten, Eaten |
| Artist | The Rotted |
| Album | Mutilated In Minutes |
| Hide my face, my geatures of pain | |
| Is there any point of having a name | |
| I stare in front, | |
| I see only red | |
| As I lay here upon my death bed | |
| Cut, gut, beaten, eaten | |
| The cannibals feast upon my innards | |
| Using bark to eat their dinner | |
| Moist muscle, inner bile | |
| Handfuls of viscera | |
| Being eaten in piles | |
| Eaten Cut, gut, beaten, eaten | |
| A half eaten carcass soaked in blood | |
| Rotting in the heat, and mud | |
| Cavity wounds, | |
| Gaping holes | |
| I'm left disregarded by these cannibal trolls |