What's that chatter in my head that's blaring?
Can't I tell that this tie's not right.
Maybe I could find some young fab trollop,
Wield 'em back, on the rage I thrive.
Found my inn ridin' 'bout late it's funny,
A house guest slashing 'til it ends all bloody runny.
Ain't no body gawkin'at the nude downed
Honey, but it's kill, knock 'em cold for me.

Mom gets madder with each tart arriving,
She can tell lots about their style.
Should I yet beget some fright stall ire,
Where I'm gonna use a durable file,
There are days I might be true semi-mental,
My guest's bed it can proove detrimental.
Hot spunk, cool bunk, leave 'em in the car trunk.
It's kill, knock 'em cold for me.

Oh, it doesn't matter what they say about rapers,
'Cause they always run the same old scene.
There's no new brand around,
But mine can't go to ground, 'til they're gory cut to smithereens...
Ached with her ravaging screams.

Hot about red hair and pink eyeliner,
In some tight worn pair of pants.
We could really have a go tumble baby,
But if we do then I'll have to lance.
Mom hates these honeys it's a true bet she's freakers,
She finds unstylish we're a cheap pair of sneakers.
Half crazed, rant rave, trance dazed, done away
It's still clock 'em cold for me.

Blood is splattered and Mom's loud and seething,
You don't know 'bout her deadly clutch.
In her eyes I must be grade a prudent,
It's bizarre how she thinks; she's touched.
Now I go about a true slashin' honey,
Gotta heed the kook cause her goal's red and runny.
Now my mama's rockin' to a new downed
Honey, It's kill, knock 'em cold for me.