Lyrics: The Number Twelve Looks Like You. Clarissa Explains Cuntainment.

The horror they leave in three's they always do I'm holding hands with the
devil while you make your deal with jesus so let me milk your prostate with
the unborn meat fingers - Horrible your eyes implode with lucider's hammer
so you don't watch it's satisfaction guaranteed the horror this condemned
end of life three are dead one wounded you just should have planted the
rotten seed inside your grandmother she could afford the abortion three
one dead what was it what was occupying your mind into the vaginal
secretion I'll drop my rotten seed to you it's time to trash the fetal tissue

it's time to trash the fetal tissue one two three four five six.