Lay where we put you, I don’t care if you scream,
I know you’ll be talking, be talking;
write a confession, the things that you know
you know you’ll be talking, be talking

You, your arse is on fire

The dark of the police cell, the breaking of bones,
your head when we squeeze it, we crush it.
Wounds that are open, your fingernails,
feels like you’re dying, you’re crying.

And you, your arse is on fire
Confess or worse will transpire

Hot as a matchhead, under fingernails,
I can enjoy it, but you won’t.
If you don’t tell us, it will get worse,
Oh, it’s still amusing, amusing, amusing

And you, your arse is on fire,
and you, your arse is on fire,
confess or worse wil transpire