Tormen

Tormen, he was a snake-oil salesman
Took a lesion, a stake and
Three fucking greasy henchman
And if on one friendless night
He were to call you a brethren
I would run my brother
Gun my brother till your sweat it is relentless
He was well versed
In witnesses and vintage carbines
He drove a long black hearse with a harlot
And a chaffeur
And he’d show me a good time
On a sunday night
But i’d have to clean up the mess
And i had to learn how to fight
Well, i saw a lot that night
I saw a lot that night
And i fought for my life
With a glass-fashioned knife
When he speaks of blood
It’s your vital not your kin
Oh much is slit over misintention
Let me speak to you of my intention
I’m a chat intervention
Let me speak to you of attention
I take my attention
Hammer it to a nickel
In the glass house
The gutter
The gutter
The gutter
The gutter
Tormen
Tormen
I said tormen
He was a cannibal
Tormen and his brazen gang
And a torch in hand
And a vernacular of pain
With a carboy and
A half full demijohn
Well he took me by the nape
(I had my blue leather on)
And i said
«No, i am that mercy mercenary!»