I hate you Coleman Francis
I'm glad that you are dead
Because your movies make it feel like
I've got a hole drilled in my head
And my brains are spilled all over the floor
I don't want to watch them anymore
Yucca Flats had Tor Johnson
Chasing kids with a stick
But your murky cinematography
Really made me feel sick
At least I would have been
If I wasn't asleep
Where did you learn to pace your films
You no talent worthless creep?
Red Zone Cuba has no Tor
You cast yourself in his place
I had to spend almost two hours
Staring at your ugly face
Two hours of nothing
A dreary sludgy mess
But John Carradine's singing
Was okay I guess
Where did you learn to edit?
Where did you learn to write?
Why do your scenes switch constantly
From night to day to night?
Why do you hate your audience?
And make them suffer pain?
What the Hell was wrong with you?
Was it something in your brain?
I hate you Coleman Francis
I'm glad that you are dead
Because your movies make it feel like
I've got a hole drilled in my head
And my brains are spilled all over the floor
I don't want to watch your movies anymore
I don't want to watch
I don't want to see
I don't want to watch
I don't want to see
But I still haven't seen Skydivers
Lord have mercy on me!
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