A sultry, wicked femme fatale with blotchy skin all pale and sweet,
A sickly facial glow with holes and gaps dotted along her rotten teeth
Hair drawn up high pulling back her face,
her arms reach out to grab for me
Growling and panting, dribbling and stumbling, murmuring incoherently

Evoking the demonic crux of life
Calling forth in blasphemous tongues
The hunger's returned for the spirit that race's
Through her mind, her vains, her lungs

With an evil cackle that cuts the air like an E.coli infected rust knife
She gropes and searches with filthy hands where weeping
sores and scabs are rife
I look into her bloodshot eyes and take her in my shaking arms
Her language is foul, her breath even worse,
never could resist her filthy charms

My backdoor crack-whore
Gives me lovin' when I´m feeling down
My backdoor crack-whore
I gave her some white, she offered me the brown

Left me sore and feeling sick, as we lay together in our own filth
She gave it up, I took her high, she flfet me itching, wanting to die
A shadow of my former self, now weak, confused and in poor health
Ridden with disease and junkified,
spreading the plague rotting out my insides

Copyright: BMG Rights Management
Writer(s): Ben Mccrow, Jonathan Rushforth, Matthew Hoban, Philip Wilson, Tim Weatherley