God of Rotting Teeth
Sing joyously to the divine sounds provideth
Fear me you lord and lady preachers
I descend upon your mouths above the chair
I command you to rinse before I drill away
And take from out your skulls
The roots of your wisdom teeth
Can you hear me while I drill away the rot
And I stand before you making stupid jokes
I will destroy that rotten pus that infects your gums
I swear that you'll scream loud
While I use the pliers on your teeth
Sister that hole needs filling
Mister you have gum disease
Your cavities that fester
Belong to you forever
Pay me now you heathen bludging pus mouths
Or I'll flash and thunder fire your tongue away
You'll not survive, you'll not survive
Visa, Mastercard and bags of gold
But forget the cheques
Begone with you you bleeding whimpering babies
I pulled out the bad and yet you still cry
I challenge you to do as good as I did
And from my drumstool
I still am the God of Rotting Teeth