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