Coming home late at night
I grab my guitar and I play a few chords
But suddenly I hear a noise from behind
and I turn around and I look at a man
with a knife in his hand and a grin on his face
and he tells me that he'll kill me
in the time it takes to drink a glass of milk
I scream and scream
I scream for help
But the neighbourhood is still fast asleep
Running 'round the tables and chairs
I try to catch his eyes to ask him why he's doing this
I talk of agreeable things to make him cool down
I talk of cigarettes and drinks and a trip to the south
I talk of Kennedy and King and Trotski and girls
But I don't seem to find the words to make him drop the knife
I scream and scream
I scream for help
But the neighbourhood is still fast asleep
I've had enough, I'm about to give in
he raises the knife and suddenly he slips
and bangs his head against the floor
There's a pool of blood, I assume that he's dead
I get him into my car and off we go
to the nearest park and minutes later
He's six foot down
He is six foot down
He is six foot down
I said six foot down
He is six foot down