Spitfire. Cult Fiction. Arrythmia Drift. Zeneszám

Cough up your money.
Bi-curious husbands with seven-year itches.
A nip and a tuck and you'll have me in stitches.
I can't feel a thing, means the anesthesia is working.
I'm your ultrasound dead giveaway. Caught in arrhythmia drift.
A miscarried mothers milk, a schizophrenic's facelift.
My eye candy rots, I can't feel a thing.
The lunatic is just wild life roaming, on the loose and rabid-foaming.
No gag reflex means the novocain is working.
Give me a shot baby our reproductive glands won't feel a thing.
Our bastard children means the birth control is working

(Thanks to hard_dude for these lyrics)