Small Town Psychopath

Every night before I go to bed
A little voice inside my head
Says, "Baby is a psychopath"
Time has had the last laugh
We are the aftermath
The flotsam and the trash
But baby don't care
There's a chainsaw, a killing jar
Cellophane and CPR
A natural born killer
One in a million
She's a small town psychopath
It's a jagged little pill
A designated thrill
Keeps them warm, keeps them
Face down onto the tarmac
Cashback flashback, euthanasia generation
All hooked up on penetration
Blood tax index-linked, fiddly bits of suspect stink
A natural born killer
She's one in a million
A small town psychopath
Floating in sweat, filling in another form
Regurgitating flies, propagating unborn
Yet another psychopath