John Wayne Gacy, Jr.

His father was a drinker and his mother cried in bed

Folding John Wayne's t-shirts when the swing set hit his head

The neighbors, they adored him

For his humor and his conversation

Look underneath the house there

Find the few living things, rotting fast, in their sleep

Oh the dead

Twenty-seven people

Even more, they were boys, with their cars, summer jobs

Oh my God

Ooh, are you one of them?

He dressed up like a clown for them

With his face paint white and red

And on his best behavior

In a dark room on the bed he kissed them all

He'd kill ten thousand people

With a slight of his hand, running far, running fast to the dead

He took off all their clothes for them

He put a cloth on their lips, quiet hands, quiet kiss on the mouth

And in my best behavior

I am really just like him

Look beneath the floor boards

For the secrets I have hid