Recorded for M.G. Lewis

And so begins the sermon Celebrated neon prison The women come to be looked at The men come to look at the women Rows and rows of Don Lorenzo's Eyes like damp and heat and pressure Dashing after their own fashion They don't know how to read attraction Stand them up Stand them up Stand them up Stand them up No vanilla perfume Can conceal the rancid stench Trailing from a mindful Of malodorous intent There's no circumventing What pervades without consent But you don't owe these men a thing No amount of sweet talk Can disguise the rot beneath Compliments whenever Noise and lies through sharpened teeth There's no sugar coating Air that's too fetid to breathe And you don't owe these men a thing The plot's all too familiar Like something out of scripture The floor is bound for stormy weather Clouds of fine cologne now gather Rows and rows of Don Lorenzo's Acting like the monk Ambrosio They entertain the backwards notion That they're entitled to a woman Stand them up Stand them up Stand them up Stand them up No vanilla perfume Can conceal the rancid stench Trailing from a mindful Of malodorous intent There's no circumventing What pervades without consent But you don't owe these men a thing No amount of sweet talk Can disguise the rot beneath Compliments whenever Noise and lies through sharpened teeth There's no sugar coating Air that's too fetid to breathe And you don't owe these men a thing Stand them up Stand them up Stand them up Stand them up Stand them up Stand them up Stand them up Stand them up Stand them up