| Well, I’ve got a machine, yeah.
 | 
| I keep it under my bed.
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| Why don’t you come on over, baby?
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| And let me feed on your head.
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| Yeah, it’s make minced meat,
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| Out of your legs and your feet,
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| Cause I’m a corpse grinder, baby.
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| Well, you know I love you,
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| But ain’t life a drag?
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| I wanna chop you up fine,
 | 
| And wrap you up in a bag, yeah.
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| Will I see you later,
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| In my refrigerator?
 | 
| I’m a corpse grinder, baby, yeah.
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| You’ll stay good for months to come,
 | 
| At the back of the fridge, yeah, stay out of the sun.
 | 
| I’ll take you out when I’m on my own,
 | 
| And defrost you so we can be alone.
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| Sharpen up the blades, yeah.
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| Go, on, oil the wheels.
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| Put your tongue on the belt,
 | 
| Go on, see how it feels.
 | 
| Well I know it’s a sin,
 | 
| But I’m gonna feed you in,
 | 
| 'Cause I’m a corpse grinder, baby.
 | 
| Well, you’ll stay good for months to come,
 | 
| Back of the fridge, go on, stay out of the sun.
 | 
| I’ll take you out when I’m on my own,
 | 
| And defrost you, baby, so we can be alone.
 | 
| Sharpen up the blades, go on.
 | 
| Go on, oil the wheels.
 | 
| Put your tongue on the belt,
 | 
| And tell me how it feels.
 | 
| Yeah, I know it’s a sin,
 | 
| But let me feed you in,
 | 
| 'Cause I’m a corpse grinder, baby.
 | 
| Well. | 
| I’m a corpse grinder-grinder baby,
 | 
| Well, I’m a corpse grinder, baby.
 | 
| Well, I’m a corpse grinder, baby, grinder, baby.
 | 
| Well, I’m a corpse grinder, baby, let me feed you in. |