|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
#7 |
|
"Faith is believing what you know ain't so." ~ Mark Twain
|
Cigars are evil, you won't miss them
We'll find ways to simulate that smell What a sorry fella' Rolled up and smoked like a panatela Here on level one of Robot Hell Gambling's wrong and so is cheating So is forging phoney I.O.U.s Let's let Lady Luck decide What type of torture's justified I'm pit boss here on level two Mmmm--deep fried robot Just tell me why Please read this fifty-five page warrant There must be robots worse than I We checked around, there really aren't Then please let me explain My crimes were merely boyish pranks You stole from boy scouts, nuns and banks Don't blame me, blame my upbringing! Please stop sinning while I'm singing! Selling bootleg tapes is wrong Musicians need that income to survive Hey Bender gonna make some noise With the harddrive scratched by the Beastie Boys That's whatcha-whatcha-whatcha get on level five I don't feel well It's up to us to rescue him Maybe he likes it here in Hell It's us who tempted him to sin Maybe he's back at the motel Come on, Fry don't be scared. I'm sure at least one of us will be spared So just sit back; enjoy the ride My ass has blisters from the slide Fencing diamonds, fixing cockfights Publishing indecent magazines You'll pay for every crime Knee-deep in electric slime You'll suffer 'till the end of time Enduring tortures, most of which rhyme Trapped forever here in Robot Hell |
|
|
|
|
|