Tekster: Clutch. Blast Tyrant. Spleen Merchant.

When I die you can cut me up and take all that you please
But pity the poor dumb fool who gets my bleeding spleen
Corn pone, I born tomorrow, my bone marrow protein filled
Scotch whiskey men of stain have come to split your skills

Hey, hey
I got your heaven
I got your burning hell
I got it all right here

Wrap them tight in zip-lock bags to benefit good medicines
If bad you can toss them back and stuff them in sausages
Isn't it something so becoming, a gentlemen of good taste
The appetizer's quite the pleaser
But might you pass the pepper please this way

Hey, hey
I got your heaven
I got your burning hell
I got it all right here

Fertilizer makes your corn row higher
But makes your back yard stink
And all the crows know where the wind blows
Where water sinks

Hey, hey
I got your heaven
I got your burning hell
I got it all right here