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You know it’s coming, the earth shakes,

you hear it’s knocking like Hell at the gates.

You cannot help it, you let go, you raise your

fist and your hair starts to grow

And the masses are marching to this groovy beat,

the living dead dancing out in the streets.

It’s the zombie rock machine...

Gray-skinned heads banging, some get loose,

rocking and rolling in wet gory mousse.

Fists pounding, dead feet tap, rock hard until

the worms make the spines snap.

And the masses are marching to this groovy beat,

the living dead dancing out in the streets.

It’s the zombie rock machine...