I can’t dream, ’cause in my face is Drac;
I sense he’s slurping, and I am the snack.
I can’t sleep; it’s hard to respire;
He sucks and he’s in tux attire.

Siphon swiller,
Qu’est ce qu’il fait.
Far, far, far, far, far lesser
Blood, blood, blood, blood, I’d say.
O, O, O. . . .

Bitin’ swiller,
Qu’est ce qu’il fait.
Far, far, far, far, far lesser
Blood, blood, blood, blood, I’d say.
O, O, O. . . .
[baying at moon]

I’d longed for conservation,
But damn! he is swiggin’ it.
He’s hogging the lot and he’s not leaving anything.
The guy does nothing but slay; his lips I feel
Break jugular, then he’s tasting the vein.

Night-time swiller,
Qu’est ce qu’il fait.
Far, far, far, far, far lesser
Blood, blood, blood, blood, I’d say.
O, O, O. . . .

Bite-time swiller,
Qu’est ce qu’il fait.
Far, far, far, far, far lesser
Blood, blood, blood, blood, I’d say.
O, O, O. . . .
[baying at moon]

Ce qu’il fait ce soir-là,
Ce qu’il ingere ce soir-là
C’est mon sang—je vais ça croire.
Il me “lance”; il va boire.
[baying at moon]
He scarfs veins; he is that kind.
He tastes people when he roams at night.

I’m a killer,
Ce que je fait:
Sang, sang, sang, sang fresser—
Fun, fun, fun, fun to slay.

Siphon killer
Ce que je fait:
Sang, sang, sang, sang fresser—
Yum! Yum! Yum! Yum! It’s A.
[baying at moon]