We come from a world of oblivion, bad dreams I got all I need strapped right to my hamstring I'm not really bad, I'm just made up of bad things I'm really not a mad man, the voices keep asking Born with a soul that don’t wanna be saved Every time I look around I see what a fiend made Every time I die, I hope they digging up my grave An undead one like the flag that I wave I’m not afraid to cry from this cocaine sickness I’m not afraid to die, let the good book witness I ask and give none, nope, no forgiveness The day of the dead and you’re on our hit list So come all you misfits Bitch, you’re on our hit list