"Stripes! It's your fuckin' birthday next week!" Ahhh! Yahh! Hahhh! YAAAAAAHHHHHH!!! [Verse 1] First thing—we’re hittin’ the shitty fair, Where the prize booth reeks and the barkers stare. You’ll ride the carousel ‘til it starts to lean, I’ll be shoutin’ “Go, Stripe Ass!” in a cloud of steam. I’ll win you junk from the claw machine, A plush rat with half its guts between Its little threadbare paws and tail— We’ll name it Captain Garbagepail. [Chorus] Happy birthday, my striped disgrace, Let’s rub that cake in your pretty face. Blow those candles, lose a tooth— Make a wish that stinks like truth. Here’s to one more year in grime, You break just right, and you’re all mine. [Verse 2] By noon I’ll have you pinned to the floor, With your legs kicked wide and your stripes done sore. I’ll suck the sweat from your arching spine, Mark you up where the sun don’t shine. Tongue on your ear, then teeth in your side, You’ll twitch like prey while I hitch and ride. I’ll growl in your throat with a fist in your hair, Grind you down while you bite the air. When your knees give out and your breath gets tight, That’s when I’ll scream: “You taste just right.” [Chorus] Happy birthday, my filth-streaked toy, You ride so nice for a birthday boy. Lick that frosting from my fist, Come on, baby, make a wish. Here’s to swet, to drool, to sin— I’ll let you breathe when the bed gives in. [Bridge] But the best part’s still to crawl, sweet meat— There’s somethin’ waitin’ six feet deep. You know the name. You know the grave. I’ll dig him up. And I won’t behave. Yip yi-ha Yaaaaah!!!!!! [Verse 3] We’ll head out past the rust gate bend, To the patch where the ground don’t mend. Silvestro’s down there, tucked in tight— Let me give that bastard one last night. I’ll claw the dirt with bleeding hands, Gnaw at the casket ‘til the pine can’t stand. When I crack it open, I won’t pretend— I’ll scream in his face like it’s not the end. Rip his ribs out one by one, Snap his femur just for fun. I’ll drag his bones out by the scruff, Spit in his skull—ain’t spite enough. I’ll piss down his throat where the songs got stuck, Then jam in coins, shouting, “Dance, you fuck!” Yi-yihaaaaaaaaaaah! [Chorus] Happy birthday, you striped mistake— I’ll ride you raw 'til your haunches quake. Here's to love with a split-lip grin— To filth, to fire, to what we’re in. Piss out the flames, choke on the smoke— You're mine 'til the dirt says otherwise, bloke. Happy birthday, Rawhide!!!!!
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