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