I’ve been repairing your old blackened oven,
And I’ve decided that you’re totally to blame.
For the rocks that are deep inside me now,
You ruthless dame.

The damn desserts we made together,
Are a reference to the quarry in your pies.
Like gravel on the hand-pumped mini-train,
Testifies.

Chorus:
Listen to my gut slowly churning,
Wearing all my stomach linings away.
That was no chiffon or meringue burning,
Only dynamite could save my coalmine day.

But I’m frightened for our children
That the pies they eat will cause great pains.
Internal implosions guaranteed, and
Molten brains.

Solo

Listen to my gut slowly churning,
Wearing all my stomach linings away.
That was no chiffon or meringue burning,
Only dynamite could save my coalmine day.

But I’m frightened for our children
That the pies they eat will cause great pains.
Internal implosions guaranteed, and
Molten brains.

When the final pie is baked,
It’s certain the oven will blow.
Not the filling this time, but
Death Wish dough.