Songtexte
Skin
the
chicken,
prepare
the
morning
feast.
Finger-lickin',
we
gotta
bleed
the
meat.
Roping
cattle.
We're
gonna
drink
tonight.
Plasma
curdles.
It's
time
to
paralyze.
Pills
are
poppin',
We
win
the
long
fight.
Sound
the
siren.
Your
mother's
calling
out.
Hit
the
switches.
Take
care
and
all
fall
out.
Peeking
over,
we
know
it's
dry
and
cold.
Praying's
over,
the
chicken's
getting
old.
Would
you
like
some
tea?
...
Know
the
time
to
overload,
Or
the
time
to
bring
under.
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