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    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

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