Plump, sliced nates make you squeal,
Your penile pair he'll pitch and gaffe, now here you dwell.
In Old Nick's domain, your fate,
So now you realize, it's straight, you went, to hell.

Butt-pronged with his pitch, a rump-stick from the tine man,
A dick-stickin', ball-wrenchin' stab.
Your cause you were pleadin' to Saint Pete, 'n'
But he said, "Sorry, sir, callow gab!

Hell-freeze eternity.
Go away, I'm sendin' you down, down, down."
Smoke, fire, pained-ass, choler,
There underground, ground, ground, ground.
Pokes pud, Beelzebub.

Nuts pronged with his pitch, a hump-nix from the tine man.
Nom de nick's "Nick"; hellhound's no Lab.
It's caustic, far from freezin', sulfur wheezin',
It's a hot pit, this stir, shallow, drab.

He'll tease infernally,
Pitch-stickin' imp of renown, nown, nown, nown,
Smoke, ire, blaze-gas coffer,
There underground, ground, ground, ground,
Roast grub o' beetles, bub!

Cuffed schnozz gets a hot-pitch pickin' from the tine man,
Then it sticks in your craw, rends your flab.
The crawdads on earth you're eatin', now retreatin'
From the nosh pit, with syr'p, Gallo, 'dab.*

You plead. He cleaves your knee.


*sanddab