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I hear the pit riffs echoing tonight
But she hears only whispers of slamming
She's coming in 8:12 flight
The moonlit riffs guide me to poser salvation
I stopped a sick man along the way
Hoping to find some long forgotten riffs of sickness
He turned to me as if to say, "Hurry boy and write the sickest brutality"
I Bless the Slams down in Africa
The wild dogs cry out in the pit
As they grow restless longing for guttural brutality
I Bless the pit riffs down in Africa
I Bless the sickness down in Africa
I Bless the slammin' brutality
From the 812 to the Serengeti
I Bless the slams down in Africa

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