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Out cruising for hookers in my rusted van of terror
Flashing dollar bills to get your attention
You'll soon meet your maker in my chamber of horror
Don't ask your savior for divine intervention
Blunt force trauma with a hammer to the head
Strung up on meat hooks and left for dead
For some weeks, you'll hang there to rot
My own private slaughterhouse is what I've got
Need their corpses to be putrid and smelly
Time to empty all the bowels and your belly
Cold steel piercing dead flesh
Gut you like a slaughtered pig draining the blood
Entrails pouring out as the tub gets over flood
Time to cleanse my fucking soul
Now I need a bath in this oozing pool of gore
Now I must feel
Their insides on my skin
Masturbation with fermented entrails
Start to rub my cock with a handful of innards
Shooting my load into the abdominal cavity
My orgasm is great