Albert Fish

They called on the Psychic, they got their wish.

They found the body in a drainage ditch.

Missing a leg, a finger or two,

the seasoned detective became unglued.

Heart was half eaten, so was the spleen,

intestines were unraveled all over the scene.

Staring from the bushes as cold as a stone

Albert Fish munched on a collar bone.

Chorus:

As Albert sat at the bar, his wife called on the phone.

"Will you be home for dinner?"

He said, "No, no, no."

He lived in the suburbs, he cut his lawn,

nobody suspected what was going on.

He worked in a factory that made widgets.

In a bowling bag he kept all the digits,

one from every person that he killed.

He counted them like a pharmacist 

counts his pills.

One, two, three - he counted them all

Two or three, he nailed to a wall.

Chorus 

Loved by the others in his town

like John Wayne Gacy,  he dressed like a clown.

He invited some over for games and fun, then retreated inside for his favorite shotgun.

Blind folds on, he stood them at a wall.

He said, "This won't hurt at all."

After he shot them, he chopped them up

then washed them down with tea from a Wedgwood cup

Chorus 

Life was hell, his mania increased.

He tried to stop killing but he couldn't cease.

He needed the blood. He stalked the parks.

Nosferatu had nothing on him after dark.

Then one night he made a mistake.

They found a piece of his DNA.

Finally, in jail after twenty ninety years,

Albert fried in the electric chair 

Chorus