The Sad Lad, The Sad Lad Weep, The Sad Lad Creep, The Sad Lad can't let his Tea steep. A Sad Lad, Will whine and wither and dither, A Sad Lad will find his face, To cover, The flesh and pulp, Makes up all the bulk, And can't touch on the baby we smother. Kill the kid, Kill the conquest, And make sure the mothe doesn't live. Think about faggots, And wo der abo t Maggots, Death is a Nigger, N t a Fa g ot.