The grave robber's work is never done,
 It's up all night and sleep all day,
 The hours are [bad word] with [bad word] to pay.
 Pockets are brimming from our unique brand of sinning,
 When the ladies claw my back at night,
 I know I'm doing something right.
 I deliver the goods as long as they don't ask,
 Deny I'm a working stiff like dear old dad,
 And to you and yours nothing but curses,
 You'll slave your life away,
 And for what?
 You're just as dead as these old [bad word] 
 They'll never get me,
 I'll [bad word] out of stock,
 With every second that ticks past,
 The bodies are still stacking up. 

 So I've clipped a few fingers off to get that gold for which I lust from the deadman's bank and [bad word] 
 To the depths of [bad word] or bust.
 The blackened bits of exhumed evidence embedded neath my fettered fingernails,
 It's but a smallish part of what our dirty work entails. 

 [bad word] dance with me,
 This graveyard planet that you've called Earth you hold in such a high regard,
 It's but as worthless as a [bad word] 
 Will you follow me into the dark?
 I rob the dead for what they're worth,
 Jewels, wealth, clothing, .
 When the mood prefers to carve a sullen path through life,
 Within the fallen's shoes you'd turn your nose at me,
 Although I smell of sheik perfumes. 

 So I've clipped a few fingers off to get that gold for which I lust from the deadman's bank and [bad word] 
 To the depths of [bad word] or bust. 

 Haunted by faces when I try to close my eyes,
 So deeply it festers,
 The guilt is murder. 

 The blackened bits of exhumed evidence embedded neath my fettered fingernails,
 It's but a smallish part of what our dirty work entails.
 May the gods have mercy