Staurday Night of the Living Dead
Black is back and love is dead
Nothing left and that's okay
I know, the world is a grave
Even in her own death
She still smokes her cigarettes
I know, she can't taste a thing
Saturday Night of the Living Dead
Our eyes roll back
Deep inside
We got a plan now for ya, baby
Your guts are what I'm craving
Saturday Night of the Living Dead
We get ourselves tattooed
With images of death
You know the wicked never rest
We listen to the music
That no one seems to care
It's our life and yes we dare
Saturday Night of the Living Dead
Our eyes roll back
Deep inside
We got a plan now for ya, baby
Your guts are what I'm craving
Saturday Night of the Living Dead, whoa
(Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey)
Saturday Night of the Living Dead
Our eyes roll back
Deep inside
We got a plan now for ya, baby
Your guts are what I'm craving
Saturday Night of the Living Dead
Whoa-whoa
Whoa-whoa
Whoa-whoa
Writer/s: Robert Andrew Calabrese, James Patrick Calabrese Jr., David Joseph Calabrese
