I was lurking in a rag late one night;
I’m a guy who prizes eerie sights:
Like a monster who goes bad, post-opened-eyes;
A sucking leech who bites, slurps, dries.

Hey, it’s a mag, hey, it’s a monster mag,
A monster mag that’s full of graveyard gags.
Hey, it’s a mag. . .
Wolfmen, vampires, and hags.
Hey, it’s a mag,
Hey, it’s a monster mag.

In the laboratory was a capo feat—
Sewn a ghastly head. . .dude has got mammoth feet,
And ghoulish dames stirred a cauldron of toads
That belched out smoke, and fire then explodes.

They’re vicious hags, they’re vicious monstrous hags
In monster mag that’s full of graveyard gags.
Inside this mag:
Bodies ripped from their bags,
Inside this mag,
Inside this monster mag.

The zombies were having lunch
(Chew, chew, chew)
They parted some guts for brunch
(Chew, chew, chew)
Intestines they then wolfed down
Cackling while they munched

The scene was noshin’; all were diggin’ the chow—
Igor on brains snacked like a baby cow.
These raucous snackers were all one time alive. . .
Now a mournful troupe with crypt-lingo jive.

They dig some hash, they dig some awful hash,
Some crawful hash that’s a graveyard repast.
They dig the hash
That spilled out from a gash.
They dig this hash,
They dig this offal hash.

Sound in his coffin Drac was sleeping
During day; at night he was creeping.
He opened his lips and hooked a kiss
And quipped: “Blood lecher’s happy with this transfusion-giving miss!”

He ripped a gash; he ripped a model, gashed,
A model’s gashed, and her carotid’s thrashed.
He sips the gash;
Her sang on him does splash
Out of the gash,
Out of the model’s gash.

Now everything’s drool, Drac’s salivary glands
In this monster mag drip and pink-tinge his fangs.
He chews the living; this mag makes me rue
That I can’t go and score me some gore when I chew.

I’m into mags—TOO into monster mags!
These monster mags make me a baleful drag.
“Hey!” mother nags
“Don’t ogle monster mags!”
She’s on the rag. . .
Becomes a monster hag!

[fade on ineffable sounds]