| Things are gettin, Awfully Deep | 
| Awfully Deep, I can’t get no sleep | 
| Things are gettin, Awfully Deep | 
| Awfully Deep, Awfully Deep | 
| I don’t do mind games, I’m frame by frame | 
| I’m eighteen bits, I’m fourty-eight hertz | 
| My favourite tie tied to my Dicky Dirts | 
| My flirt tac-tics are so damn sublime | 
| MY long-john greased with slippery slime | 
| My prime cut, move ya butt, twist ya nut | 
| From ya don’t know issht then keep ya mouth shut | 
| Hut one, hut two, hut three and hut four | 
| A terrible phase is spendin' money wi' whores | 
| A pastor say we shouldn’t do that shit | 
| So we sit down, reflect all the sins we commit | 
| How many Hail Marys cut down on the dairy? | 
| Away with the fairies, how much do my fare be? | 
| Two travelcards, my life’s so hard | 
| I don’t know my inch, from my foot to my yard | 
| (?) God’s my body guard, beg you pardon me, pa | 
| My sanity’s back on the line again | 
| Last year, I said I wouldn’t rhyme again | 
| But I’m, back for punishment, time again | 
| If I should lose my good mind again | 
| Tell my management not to waste good money | 
| Sendin' me away to the farms of the funny | 
| Them places only make me worse | 
| They full’a, crooked doctors and kinky nurses | 
| That poke you in the arse, and measure your schlong | 
| Put that tape measure down, that practice is wrong | 
| They thought I didn’t know what was goin' on | 
| But I, knew the clue although the drugs was strong | 
| Claw-polma, oxidisa-what? | 
| Tell me doctor, why I got purple snot | 
| I’m feelin' happy when I know I’m sad | 
| And now they wanna certify me mad | 
| They said, «Mr Smith, please calm down | 
| We’re not here to hurt you | 
| You’re feeling a little bit paranoid | 
| Your brain is over-heating | 
| You’re overworked, you’re underpaid | 
| And your body’s taken a beating» | 
| And I said «You're not seein' things, like how I’m seein' things | 
| I’m seein' things that I don’t wanna see | 
| I see the devil sit right before me | 
| Fire in his eyes as he spoke to me» | 
| Blinked, I blinked and I pinched myself | 
| I screamed for Jesus but it was no use | 
| I had to face my, (awful) painful truth | 
| Voodoo in the hills, and I’m runnin' from ghosties | 
| Lightin' up the candles as the spooks approach me | 
| Voodoo in the hills, and I’m runnin' from ghosties |