John Wayne Gacy, Jr.

His father was a drinker
And his mother cried in bed
Folding John Wayne's t-shirts
When the swingset hit his headThe neighbors, they adored him
For his humor and his conversation
Look underneath the house there
Find the few living things, rotting fast
In their sleep all were deadTwenty-seven people, even more
They were boys, with their cars
Summer jobs, Oh my GodAre you one of them?
He dressed up like a clown for them
With his face paint white and red
And on his best behavior
In a dark room on the bed he kissed them allHe'd kill ten thousand people
With a slight of his hand, running far, running fast to the dead
He took off all their clothes for them
He put a cloth on their lips, quiet hands, quiet kiss on the mouthAnd in my best behavior
I am really just like him
Look beneath the floor boards
For the secrets I have hid