And welcome back to **** my friends.
it is the lost pit of despair and profanity
One that doesn't need a name though we call it
Well, tail or tails, run in and you'd call it
Someplace near the Trent, close to James.
Someplace north of Pollock’s, but under Bridgeton.
Just slightly before Kinston and right next to Moen.
And your back again.
I guess you are a sick animal,
Would you care to have a shot or too.
We shoot our dying friends.
But hell as much as can be said.
Is a familiar pit that takes you back.
Where you hang your soul,
Well call it home.
for the twisted.