Artist: Webb Wilder

Title: Slow death

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I called the Doctor

Up in the morning

I had a fever

It was a warning



She said there's nothing I can prescribe

To keep your raunchie bag of bones alive

I got some money

Give me one more shot

She said go kill yourself

I said Thanks a lot.



Its a slow death, slow death, slow death, slow death



I called the preacher

oh holy holy

I begged forgiveness

and then he told me



There's nothing I can prescribe

To keep your raunchie bag of bones alive

I got some money

Give me one more shot

He said go kill yourself

I said Thanks a lot.



I've got to mainline

A hit of morphine

Except the mainline

Is like a bad dream



Slow death eats my mind away

Slow death turns my flesh to clay

slow death, slow death, slow death, slow death