Published by J.W. Pepper
A setting of a humorously twisted text by the composer about the undead
You can run
You can hide
You can slip away and slide
You can hole up in an attic
Feel your heartbeat turn erratic
Start to shake, full of dread
As you watch the fresh undead
Through a crack in the window
With their mouths dripping red
Filled with blood from healthy humans
And the flesh of tender babies
Dragged from mommy’s new Mercedes
Feeders and the crawlers
Don’t scream, don’t scream, don’t scream, don’t scream…
Then a knock at the door as you drop to the floor
And you hold your breath and pray
That you’ll live another day
Is it friend? Is it foe? Do you really want to know?
Perhaps a bloody bubble rider or just your neighbor “Six-Pack Joe”
“Let me in,” he cries. “Let me… let me in.”
Zombies coming by the dozens
They already ate my cousins and we’ve got to get away.
Get away, get away…
It’s the Zombie Apocalypse! The Zombie Apocalypse!
Will you open the door?
Or, keep quiet and ignore.
He could be a zombie crawler
Or a hugger or a mauler
Lest he try to gnaw your nose
While you watch him decompose
Best to open up a sliver with an object to deliver a final coup d’etat
How about a baseball bat?
But his body is intact, there’s not a scratch to be exact
Time to fight the Zombie Apocalypse
The Zombie Apocalypse.
So you grab your gun and you holster your axe
Then you’re skipping down the stairs
As you hear the sound of flares
And the town is ablaze,
It’s the End of Days
More than twenty stand before you twenty more are cloaked in haze.
Then you swing and you shoot as the heads of Zombies splatter
“Six –Pack Joe” gives one a whack until his brains are pancake batter
And there’s little Sally-Jean who has just turned sweet sixteen
But who’s been quite a sensation
Dealing out decapitation
Sergeant Bob is on the case, to defend the human race
Oops… a Zombie just got hold of him and chomped off all his face.
It’s a Zombie Apocalypse
A Zombie Apocalypse