Two, three, four...
|
|
The Shankill butchers ride tonight
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You better shut your windows tight
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They're sharpening their cleavers and their knives
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And taking all their whiskey by the pint
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'Cause everybody knows
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If you don't mind your mother's words
|
A wicked wind will blow
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Your ribbons from your curls
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Everybody moan, everybody shake,
|
The Shankill butchers wanna catch you
|
Awake
|
|
They used to be just like me and you
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They used to be sweet little boys
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But something went horribly askew
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Now killing is their only source of joy
|
'Cause everybody knows...
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|
(repeat)
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|
The Shankill butchers on the rise
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They're waiting till the dead of night
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They're picking at their fingers with their knives
|
And wiping off their cleavers on their thighs
|
'Cause everybody knows...
|
|
(repeat)
|
|
The Shankill butchers wanna catch you
|
The Shankill butchers wanna cut you
|
The Shankill butchers wanna catch you
|
Awake
|
Awake
|
Awake
|
Awake
|
|
-----------------
|
Shankhill Butchers
|
| The Decemberists |
