Holy Hack Jack

He got a sheath made of plastic grabs it over his head forty gallons of petrol
Gonna burn you all dead
A forty-five strapped to his side
A machete in his hand
What’s the name. What’s the game
Holy Hack Jack’s the man
He’s a sick sick, sick gone mother
He’s a sick sick, sick gone man
He’s a sick sick, sick gone mother
He’s a sick sick, sick gone man
He hobbles along on a busted knee
Knife strapped to his thigh
Bombs and blades, hand grenades
Somebody’s gonna die
With his cassocks an' his robes and his leather chaps covered by a plastic mack
He’s sick he’s insane Holy Hack Jack’s at it again
Sick sick, sick sick
Clapped out buggy down darkened streets likes to kill whoever he meets
He’s sick he’s insane Holy Hack Jack’s at it again
Sick sick, sick sick
He’s a sick sick, sick gone mother
He’s a sick sick, sick gone man
He’s a sick sick, sick gone mother
He’s a sick sick, sick gone man
Sick sick, sick sick