I'm as crooked as a dog’s leg And gauche as I am, I can’t make things right Fine for me to be the bad egg In a baker’s dozen rotting through the night But I feel just fine Amidst the scoundrels and the rascals With their teeth that shine In silver scowls framed by the snout of jackals While hands beneath the table clutch to the knives True, I'm the king of liars Tell me I'm the cause for all despair You are preaching to the choir Just call me “devil” and maybe I will care But I feel alive Creeping around along the fiends and ghouls And here I thrive When the smoke clears I’ll be the pope of fools While hands beneath the table clutch to the knives I'm a scumbag lotus eater Blah blah blah blah blah et cetera And you loath my ways And think of me as the grotesque event That ruins your day When I appear to stain your pure intents While hands beneath the table clutch to the knives And I'm incorrigible, guess you were right