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lyrics

Come on bring the kids
Don’t be shy
Don’t be bashful/
Come on bring the kids
Don’t be shy
Don’t be bashful/
Come on bring the kids
To the feast
Time
To blacken……….. flesh

No more bed time stories
No more talk of what you wanna hear
(No more bunny foo-foo, foo-foo)
Never ever ever stepped outside the bubble
Feel the prick in your side
Never ever ever learnt to lance the boil
Use the pus to baste in

With your arms full of dripping flesh
You’re the toast of the barbeque
Nice and warm wrapped inside your flag
You’re the toast of the barbeque

This face is a sewer
This place is diseased
This race is overrun
Dead rodents and stale come

Why’s there something wrong with being on
Fire the caretaker he thinks he’s
God made me my gun made me my
Rage is beautiful it brings me

Results, good times…

No more bed time stories…

Suckle on the teats of a dying dog
Keep sucking till the milk starts running red
And the King is a fucking liar
But I’ll fuck him just to taste his juice
We’ll give you surgical emancipation
Blue babies, blue babies and aperitifs

Real beauty sells cheaply
There’s a market dictate, so you’ll
Impregnate yourself before long

credits

from White Boys for Worldwide Idiocide, released March 1, 2006

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