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Pull the string,

That starts up the might,

Fear the sound,

When the blade comes alive.

Spin the blade around,

It’s Mr. Buzzsaw,

He’s such a delight.

Splatter on the ground,

It’s Mr. Buzzsaw,

With his carnivorous bite.

The backyard is a tomb,

For those he chose to play,

The grass is nice and green,

On any sunny day.

But the smell will stay!

Spin the blade around,

It’s Mr. Buzzsaw,

He’s such a delight.

Splatter on the ground,

It’s Mr. Buzzsaw,

With his carnivorous bite.

In the closet,

When you’re sleeping.

Creeking hinges,

Spin the blade.

No escaping.

It is too late.

Flesh devour,

Shredding your leg.

Cutting pieces,

for a puzzle.

At the center,

Pounding heart.

Laying pieces,

with a shovel.

In the backyard,

Dead and buried.