Scars, he's been staked more than once
He don't glitter on demand

He's without that cute something that emos do
And he's real unlikely to woo a girl friend

Undead are spinning up a treat underground
As their necromancing proposals abound
And yet, I think that he's past his prime

He's not so tall, his head it attains to two foot five
And the peeps on his bill of fare are way oversized

But he's not to blame, that their throats are too high
He's shorter than pint-size, he's gonna bite their thighs

Ooh, oh, oh
Ooh, oh, oh oh

Ooh, oh, oh
Ooh, oh, oh oh

Bite their thighs

Moos and sheeps, he will choose
He must dine, too
Moos will bleed, sheeps will ooze
No swill wine

The undead are gleaming like effete courtesans
But his pants are saggy, and so are his fangs
And yeah, I think he just gored a mime

He's hardly Goth, his coffin it is the La-Z-Boy kind
And the sheeple he'd like to gnaw just won't stay reclined

Cause he's kinda lame, and their throats are too high
Cause's he's dimmer than twilight, he's gonna bite their thighs

Ooh, oh, oh
Ooh, oh, oh oh
Ooh, oh, oh
Ooh, oh, oh oh

Bite their thighs