Back from the lab, all work and no play
A colleague is who Dr. West will slay
Not by the sword, nor gun or bare hands
Pathology is his homicidal plan

Coffee spiked with Cholera
A squirt gun filled with AIDS
You thought it was fun and games
But now you're fuckin' dead!

For you death was painful and slow
A myriad of infections plaguing you so
Why does the public hold you so dear?
I'm the lord of pathology, crust-gore, and beer!

In your last conscious moments
I looked you in the eye and said:
“I am a pathologist!”
And now you're fuckin' dead!

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