64 Little White Things

Cake Bake Betty

64 Little White Things

Come and get me out of this town oh now
Come and save me
Come and rescue me from this joint hotel full of bones and babies

Take a look at yourself
A look that will sell
Call your aunt about the tea she abandoned
Yeah, while she placed him in a can in candum

It's the same as any day now
Except your teeth are falling out and you're going upstairs
Yeah, you're going upstairs
It's an upstairs harmony
And when you get there you can write a song to keep you company

There are good things
There are good things to eat
And tonight we're eating meat
Goody goody goody
There's a couple of things
I should tell you about
That the fuckers wouldn't sell
'Cause they're too cheap to tell
It's the men who feed on human beings
And they dottle about
With their bellies hanging out
You can wash their fingers
But they never leave
You can bite your tongue
But it turns them on
And when you're ready to go
They'll pinch at your sides
And they'll make you recite
Brilliant songs about the symphony

I hate this
And I hate their trees
And their yards that they wrap with and their plastics in the greens
And their white houses
And goddamn white teeth
And the chemical stress on the hair that they squeeze
I hate this sex
And the brats that they breed
And the air that they breathe
And they hated me
And they hated me
And they hated me
And they hated me
And they hated me
And they hated me

Well then they ate me
And then they ate me
And they thought I was tasty

Well then they ate me
And then they ate me
And they thought I was tasty
And they thought I was tasty
And they thought I was tasty
And they thought I was tasty

Ven y sácame de esta ciudad, oh ahora
Ven y sálvame
Ven y rescátame de este gigante hotel lleno de huesos y bebés

Mírate a ti mismo
Una mirada que venderá
Dile a tu tía sobre el té que abandonó
Sí, mientras ella los puso en un bote y los enlató

Es lo mismo cada día ahora
Excepto que se te caen los dientes y vas arriba
Sí, vas arriba
Es una armonía en el piso de arriba
Y cuando llegues, puedes escribir una canción para hacerte compañía

Hay buenas cosas
Hay buenas cosas para comer
Y esta noche comeremos carne
Bueno, bueno, bueno
Hay un par de cosas
Que debería contarte
Que los hijos de puta no venderían
Porque son muy baratos para decirlo
Es el hombre que se alimenta de humanos
Y ellos vagan por ahí
Con sus barrigas colgando
Puedes lavar tus dedos
Pero ellos nunca se irán
Puedes morder tu lengua
Pero eso los enciende
Y cuando estás listo para irte
Te pellizcan a los lados
Y te harán recitar
Canciones brillantes sobre la sinfonía

Odio esto
Y odio sus árboles
Y los patios que envuelven con sus plásticos y zonas verdes
Y sus casas blancas
Y sus malditos dientes blancos
Y el estrés químico empapado en el cabello que aprietan
Odio su sexo
Y los mocosos que ellos crían
Y el aire que respiran
Y ellos me odiaron
Y ellos me odiaron
Y ellos me odiaron
Y ellos me odiaron
Y ellos me odiaron
Y ellos me odiaron