Russell's new uptight trust-fund princess reigns

Stares down her coke-burned nose and sets new rules

Forbids his listening to punk rock music

Tried to burn his copy of The People's History



His face is blank, bloodless, inexpressive,

All passion drained by the unhallowed leech



Last Call for Russell's Balls

The Demon must be fed

Last Call for Russell's Balls

They're hanging by a thread



Russell says it's true love more like sick games

A bitter brawl at midnight in the street

Some cars have stopped to watch the loud commotion

Laughing at the wicked witch of West Hollywood



Strings held tight a dancing marionette doll

A painted smile on a wooden face



Last Call...



A phone call woke up Russ in the middle of the night

As she reached down his trousers with sharp scissors

and a light

Caught the blades before the amputation was complete

It seems the rearview mirror's where she would've

hung the meat



Born-again with pride, Russ hands her the broomstick

Says it's time for her to fly away forever...



Last Call saved Russell's balls

The Demon's face turned red

Smoke shot out her ears

When he kicked her of bed



He saved himself this time

From the evil bride-to-be

So clearly serpentine

Now she's just a memory