A long time ago and far, far away there was a boy by the name of Bill
born and bred in Tennessee & raised in the country hills.
They locked him away in the cellar all day; the child never saw the sun.
Learned to read by Playgirl magazine, sweet sixteen sick son-of-a-gun.

Bill, Queen Bill, with a face that could give the Elephant Man the chills;
Bill, Queen Bill, you've got to make 'em all pay, 'cause nobody else ever will.

One hot summer day he was ready to crack; the kid couldn't take it any more...
when Daddy brought him his food, Bill knifed him in the back, and left him to rot on the floor.
Putting Daddy's 45 up to Mommy's head, he said, "You've got one chance to stay alive:
Get the keys to the ragtop Caddy, & show me how to drive."

Bill, Queen Bill, with a face that could give the Elephant Man the chills;
Bill, Queen Bill, mow 'em all down and show 'em who's King of the Hill.

Twenty miles later Mommy's head is a mess, and her baby is dressed to kill
with two loaded guns, a hot pink dress, and a maniac iron will.
Cruising at 112, he's the man; shotgun aimed down the road.
Send as many souls to hell as he can, and swerves to miss a toad.

Bill, Queen Bill, with a face that could give the Elephant Man the chills;
Bill, Queen Bill, you've got to make 'em all pay, 'cause nobody else ever will.

Mow 'em all down & show 'em who's King of the Hill. (or Queen of the Hill...)