The Columbine High Alma Mater

Today, is my last day, and it’s gonna be yours too
The shrapnel from my pipe bombs is gonna run through you.
So strap on your weapons and follow what I do scream while your dying at the hands of my crew
Grab the gun and yell suprise.
The Look of death in your eyes
What the fuck is wrong with you? Why do you have to cry?
Standing at the bus stop with that glimmer in your eye.
Eight years old, nine years old, I don’t really care.
Pull up the plaid skirt to reveal no pubic hair.
Let’s butcher the bodies that gather up the flies
I’ll cum in your woman as she watches you die
If I was you, I’d commit suicide. Go run and hide
The blood on my hands, is what I live for.
Remember my name.