Coming home late at night I grab my guitar and I play a few chords But suddenly I hear a noise from behind And I turn around and I look at a man With a knife in his hand and a grin on his face And he tells me that he'll kill me In the time it takes to drink a glass of milk I scream and scream I scream for help But the neighbourhood is still fast asleep Running 'round the tables and chairs I try to catch his eyes to ask him why he's doing this I talk of agreeable things to make him cool down I talk of cigarettes and drinks and a trip to the south I talk of Kennedy and King and Trotski and girls But I don't seem to find the words to make him drop the knife I scream and scream I scream for help But the neighbourhood is still fast asleep I've had enough, I'm about to give in He raises the knife and suddenly he slips And bangs his head against the floor There's a pool of blood, I assume that he's dead I get him into my car and off we go To the nearest park and minutes later He's six foot down He is six foot down He is six foot down I said six foot down He is six foot down