Lyrics by Ross Sewage

Grinding forth from the halls of education
Replete with the stench of dessication
Four pre-meds suffer condemnation
Tomes were [bad word]  tombs were abused
All medico-legal limitations refused
With inhuman dexterity and intelligence, infused

Master thespians in the operating theatre
Likewise endowed in a gorenography feature
Deranged we may be after a blood bath
But all that rots can't be studied intact

Sifting through reams of anatomical charts
Bisecting livers and dissecting hearts
Arcane knowledge for doctoral upstarts
Rooting through a chum ridden morass
Cells [bad word] on iodized glass
We've mapped the [bad word] of a carcass

(solo: "Destroying Galen" by J. Kocol)
(solo: "De Fabrica Humani Corpus" by S.C. McGrath)

Up to our elbows in [bad word] and claret
We proffer quite a sanguine display
As [bad word] this mondo medicale
With scalpels and blades prepared on the tray
Integument cut and dermis to flay
You [bad word] this mondo medicale

Bypassing moral balances and checks
Summistes on high, rewriting texts
Our æsculapian methods leave them all vexed
Surgical aspirations, all dignified
Post-modern Versali, repersonified
But for our successes, we're villified

trocar employed for psycho-surgery
In this bedlam of hospitality
Though flesh and blood are dead inside
The gross anatomy can still be applied
To raise the stakes of medicine's breadth
These choice cuts ours, until death
Our work is to die for so don't be a knave
Choke on it and go back to the grave