Released: April, 1992
Recorded: Dublin, Ireland
John De Baptiste came from Jerusalem
In the 29th Dynasty before the Infernal Light.
His father was a prophet,
His mother a common whore.
He inherited his father’s prophetic talents
From the Temple of Christ and rose to become
The Light of the Holy Land.
Chewed Giblet, a peasant boy born Jan Hesderm
In Norway, who lived in darkness
For two thousand and forty, nay, six years
Before the Earth parted.
He became the mightiest of warriors,
Chewing his victims giblets, hence the name.
Forthron the Evil,
A bastard mutant, repulsive to the eye,
Came from a fifth dimension,
450 million years B.C.
His sordid sick putrid perverted ways
Created a total wave of Insane Terror.
He is older than Time itself.
He saw the Dawn of Man, and he will see
It’s correct, I ate your limbs.
Black hogs make stumps of their legs
To the rack, hurt the little person
Befriend the terrible.
Make me kill the person over there.
A little child lay under the rug.
Hello little boy.
You don’t like me, do you?
The book of Hard Death burns your eyes out!
Smell the dirt of the Beautiful-Leper!
And I must yonder over the moot
For Hate is my mate.
The mutants arrived with Shovels and Dreams,
Uncertain livers were not to be overlooked.
“I like your nice carcii, your dead relatives”,
Said the Unique Mutant,
Regurgitating the digested after-birth.
Penance was then repaid after the
Cunting rape of HIS mother.
Yes, I love the way you pull off their
Handicapped were the rest.
The fiends dribbled for his rib cage.
The young-good-looking man ran.
He ran through the field.
And over the hill.
Through the stream.
And into the Grinder.
Straight into the Grinder.
Disgusting feeling in the Darkness
Only wanting to murder
The hate of my Mother.
I twist your legs the wrong way.
Death they smelt, nostrils over.
Loaded with stenchy grench!
Bodies overthrown and then crushed
Within their own limbs, broken, torn, elastic.
Sick dirty fools – Horrible twits.
I make you die, doggy pigs.
Remember as children we crawled,
Now I disgrace the Throg Lord.
Children were burned with coal embers,
Their faces torched and melted with salty flames.
Vikings had dreams of free goblins and shiny skies!
Blood spilled and bladder operations were untrue!
Awful Spit Bastards were looked upon
With an unnatural view point.
There was only one thing to do.
Watch their legs twist with
Spanners on their ankles.
Chainsaws cutting their fibias,
Blood (Crimson with clots!),
Yes, lovely blood!
The lights went out,
As it entered the Church.
The congregation trembled
And feared for their lives.
The thing drooled
At the sight of so many fools.
The Priest denounced it,
As the thing roared laughing.
Gorging on the flesh
Of the Holy Happy People.
There was no way out
For the once-smiling idiots:
They were all to be eaten
By the Dark Beast from Ondor.
The Pain and Terror
As their limbs were chewed,
Sent chilling screams up
The Church spire.
Oh Beast from Ondor
Come and devastate
The Cathedrals of darkness,
And let everyone die a horrid,
The Pilgrims dancing in the moonlight.
The blades are eventually sharpened.
The first offspring were decapitated
Heads were a-flyin’ through the corn.
“Blood and oats for breakfast”, said Mary-Lou,
A grin on her sad and mangled
Skull. (Crushed with nice blows!)
“I like your charred ankles,
You can’t run, can you?”
“No, I bleed on the fearless,
And then I laugh”.
Brendan screamed, Mary coughed.
Blood oozed from Beastore’s nose.
Brendan cried triumphantly.
Oh, why is it that we crave for Death
In the eyes of the Goat?
The Goat will die.
Yes, it is true, He will die.
And I will fucking stick the
Spear of Horror
Blood, Blood, Guts.
Suddenly the laugher
Becomes the laughed at.
The man with the smile,
Will twist in infernal agony.
The Dogs of Sick Deeds
Rip the Hell Altar,
As the Ceremonies
Sacrifice the unfortunate
Families gather round,
And weep for a while.
The goat-fucker waves
And sentences them to torture.
A vile sick old man enters,
And it is here the Black Chalice
Of Unholiness burns,
The faces of the perverts.
Oh sick people of ill-ways,
Eat the gak-maggots of Treblore.
Hayl Mary, full of grace,
Moder in virginity.
The little man took the Cup,
The Cup of Dogs’ Piss.
And drank it whole.
Turned slowly and smiled,
Urine trickling down his chin.
“All will die”, he whispered,
Running with his footless stumps.
He screamed as he burst into flames.
Devoured by Death, was the little man,
By the doing of my hand.
Oh yes, I was pleased.
It was a pleasure to the eye.
His misfortune was my fortune.
I enjoy people dying before me.
They lie beneath my throne,
Dying by my wrath.
I laugh. Laugh and snigger,
At my ill-fated doings.
And then all of a sudden,
The Altar was prepared
With human remains
And blood from the Unwanted Horse.
Tied up and gagged, the Dwarf,
He gave his life to the Bastards,
Bringing hope to all those,
Who continued with the rapes
And the Humongous Killings.
The Mongol Foetus beheld village carnage
Within the betrayed sewerage domaine.
Crawly vermints slithered in slime
To see the Murdered Plasma.
And lo! He was generous with pain!
Yet horrific was his pleasure as he pointed…
Death was a pleasing……….release.
Old John, wobbled and fell.
Krustore stood on his face,
Looked with disgust, and let the knife do its work.
Hacked John’s bone joints, bluntly apart.
“Tremendous”, said Krustore, in the bloody sunset.
Imbeciles gaining their just desserts.
Decapitation and Disembowelment.
Fucking idiots dying for their foolishness.
When one saw a frightened corpse,
Just about alive, with head just there!
“I want the most puniest boy brought before me”,
Cried the fat overgrown woman.
The small boys licked their wounds.
Oh, please understand.
They were little, but they died.
They had to die.
And their friends, and family and
All that is rotting in the
Scaby brain of the Leper.
Hurrah! The banquet begins,
Let us dine with the Darkest Beast,
Chew on the Pancreii of our foes,
Laugh and jest in our ill-mannered ways.
A toast of whores urine for the putrid bards.
Make the bastards fuck and dance.
Let the holy masturbation of the beast
The torrid fires shall burn only
Unless they themselves know
The prophecies that are unknown,
And then they shall lead their
Legion of Malignant Goblins,
Against the Mighty Green Strangers,
In the Tavern of Many Lakes,
Which will once again end
The little bastards
The fog had risen, the Moon shone through.
A breathtaking scene lay before me.
The Pit of Limbs, gnawed by the rats.
Very little movement.
The wind blew, with torrents from Hell.
Let the Hounds free, and into the forests,
Feeding on the dirty peasants.
The young pale virgin lay on the Altar.
Long blades were brandished.
I forced the cleaver through her knee,
Crunching, cracking through to the Altar.
Her breasts shredded by blades so fine.
Her neck sliced clean in two.
Her head bludgeoned by a heavy
Her legs charred by the deathly flames.
Master, her corpse is prepared for
The merry little fiddler, the pounding drummer,
The chirpy singer and the graceful mandolin player
Began playing the music.
The feast begun, the occasion was set.
We dined, we ate, we drank tasty wine.
We laughed, we jested, we sang.
Then we quivered.
The Satanic Maniacs stood in the doorway.
Heads fell off in the carnage.
Demons entered twisting bodies apart.
Treachery they called it.
Where does madness begin?
Is it in the mind of the Crimson-Claw Beast?
Or in the thoughts of the very-cunning dwarf?
Many centuries ago, these were my thoughts,
Until the unholy figure approached me.
A-killing I went, legs torn off,
Testicles trodden on, buttocks chewed.
The victims hung by their ankles,
The latches attached to their heads.
Slowly crushing as their ribs burst for air.
Chilling wind as they screech for their lives.
Grovel, you horrid people, stupid filthy dirt.
The machine starts to whirr as the pigs scream.
I laugh as they crush: The feast begins.
Gorge on the slaughter, Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!
Incisors cut through the cranium,
Grabbing the brain, hurting the victim. (Very Good.)
Hung up to bleed, bleed to death.
By the hand of the Bad Man.
Dark in the eye, terrified of the crab.
It moves towards us slowly, carefully, sinisterly.
What can they do, but pray to the Holy Black
More will die, more will be tortured,
More is never enough.
Father dies, Mother crushed, Jimmy twisted,
Little Mary cries, Machine comes nearer,
Little Mary sliced, Blood everywhere.
Machine moves on crushing and disembowelling.
Relatives in shock, as they flee for freedom.
Never, Never shall they be happy again.
Here comes the machine,
One night I remember
The small little cute girls sang,
Neath the campfire.
Happy were the songs.
Gleeful were the girls;
“Hooray!”, they chorused.
Happiness, Totally finished.
Happy life, No more.
The songs went down with a loud
Screams and seconds later,
The Joters appeared.
People dying, animals running.
The Unholy Master cried “Let us Pray!”
The Worgs and the Joters moved out.
Chewed upper lips lay withering
On the Ledge.