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Version 1Verse Format (continue for other verses) Am E On Mondays murder children, little girls and boys Am I put my hands around their throats till they don't make a noise E Tuesdays torture animals, pluck off small birds wings Am Watch them as they bleed to death, then they don't sing E Wednesdays I defecate on the priest's front door Am If the priest he does complain, I just do it some more E Thursdays I Molatov the local orphans home Am Love those little orphans, charred down to the bone Chorus Am I'm terrible, terrible, shouldn't be allowed E To sing my songs of filth to a decent crowd (Verse) On Fridays sodomize tender virgin nuns Tie them up, lear at them, and then I have my fun Saturdays I stand and sing my sad, sad, sick, sick songs To anyone who listen, who in the head is wrong Sundays, Sundays, the day I love the best Rape, murder, pillage while other people rest (Chorus) I'm terrible, terrible, shouldn't be allowed To sing my songs of filth to a decent crowd I'm terrible, terrible, shouldn't be allowed But when I do offend someone it makes me feel so proud