Crasses et Voluptés

On Mondays murder children, little girls and boys 

I put my hands around their throats till they don't make a noise 

Tuesdays torture animals, pluck off small birds wings 

Watch them as they bleed to death, then they don't sing 

Wednesdays I defecate on the priest's front door 

If the priest he does complain, I just do it some more 

Thursdays I Molatov the local orphans home 

Love those little orphans, charred down to the bone 

I'm terrible, terrible, shouldn't be allowed 

To sing my songs of filth to a decent crowd 

On Fridays sodomize tender virgin nuns 

Tie them up, lear at them, and then I have my fun 

Saturdays I stand and sing my sad, sad, sick, sick songs 

To anyone who listen, who in the head is wrong 

Sundays, Sundays, the day I love the best 

Rape, murder, pillage while other people rest 

I'm terrible, terrible, shouldn't be allowed 

To sing my songs of filth to a decent crowd 

I'm terrible, terrible, shouldn't be allowed 

But when I do offend someone it makes me feel so proud

mmm...something something

and the damned bastards nailed it

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