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 of the dead
Twenty-seven people Even more
They were boys
With their cars, summer jobs
Oh my God

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 al
He'd kill ten thousand people
With a sleight 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
Iam really just like him
Look beneath the floorboards
For the secrets I have hid