I count the corpses on my left, I find I'm not so tidy. So I'd better get away, better make it today, I've got 23 down since Friday. But I can't control it, my face is drawn, my instinct still emotes it. I slashed them cold, I killed them dead, I broke their gooks, I cracked their heads. I pumped them out from under their beds, but now I've got the running gun blues. It seems the beast mobs stopped the war, left general squashed and stifled. But I'll slip out again tonight, cause they haven't taken back my rifle. For I'll promote a million, and I'll plug a few civilians. I'll slash them cold, I'll kill them dead, I'll break their gooks, I'll crack their heads. I'll slash them cold, I'll kill them dead, I'll break their heads. I'll slice them too, they're running red, but now I've got the running gun blues. I'll slash them cold, I'll kill them dead, I'll break their hooves, I'll run their heads. I'll slice them too, they're running red, but now I've got the running gun blues. *