Verse Format (continue for other verses)
Am                                                                E
On Mondays murder children, little girls and boys
                                                                                         Am
I put my hands around their throats till they don't make a noise
                                                                         E
Tuesdays torture animals, pluck off small birds wings 
                                                                      Am
Watch them as they bleed to death, then they don't sing
                                                     E 
Wednesdays I defecate on the priest's front door
                                                        Am 
If the priest he does complain, I just do it some more
                                                E 
Thursdays I Molatov the local orphans home
                                                Am 
Love those little orphans, charred down to the bone 
Chorus
Am
I'm terrible, terrible, shouldn't be allowed 
E
To sing my songs of filth to a decent crowd 

(Verse)
On Fridays sodomize tender virgin nuns 
Tie them up, lear at them, and then I have my fun 
Saturdays I stand and sing my sad, sad, sick, sick songs 
To anyone who listen, who in the head is wrong 
Sundays, Sundays, the day I love the best 
Rape, murder, pillage while other people rest 
(Chorus)
I'm terrible, terrible, shouldn't be allowed 
To sing my songs of filth to a decent crowd 
I'm terrible, terrible, shouldn't be allowed 
But when I do offend someone it makes me feel so proud