Pulp

He writes paperbacks and publishes himself
Sneaks into the book shop and puts them on the shelf
He's tried getting them stocked properly, but the manager is tough
And she refuses to sell the really violent stuff
The shop is well stocked with romance, and there's plenty there for kids
But his stories of destruction, she completely forbids
And yet still he wears disguises and he puts on fake voices
To get his books on the shelves among the more wholesome choices

Because his books are about murder
His books are about killing
They focus upon vengeance
In an attempt to be thrilling
They don't hold back on the detail
Even when maybe they should
His books are about murder
And they are filled with blood

When they first started appearing, she flicked through the pages
Although they turned her stomach, she thought about them for ages
And she found, in time, that these sordid tales
Stuck in her head like blood under fingernails
Soon the romance novels bore her, she craves violence and more
But she knows the local parents love her family-friendly store
And so she clears them from the window and removes them from the shelf
But every time he leaves a new one she takes a copy for herself

His books are about murder
His books are about killing
They focus upon vengeance
In an attempt to be thrilling
They don't hold back on the detail
Even when maybe they should
His books are about murder
And they are filled with blood.