Chorus: She's the anti-mother, mother is that you?
She's the anti-mother, mother, mother is that you?
It's Myra Hindley on the cover
Your very own sweet anti-mother
There she is, on the pages of The Star
Ain't that just the place you wish you were?
Let her rot in hell, is what you said
Let her rot, let her starve, you'd see her dead
Let her out but don't forget to tell you where she is
The chance to screw her is a chance you wouldn't miss
Let her suffer, give her pain is the verdict you gave
You just can't wait to piss on her grave
You pretend that you're horrified
Make out that you care
But really you wish that you had been there
You say you can't bear the thought of what she did
But you'd do it to her, you'd see her dead
Tell me, what is the difference between her and you
You say that you would kill her
Well, what else would you do?
Don't you see that the violence has no end?
Isn't limited by rules?
Don't you see as angels preaching
You're nothing but the fools
Fools step in where angels fear to tread
You see, to kill others is the ethic of the dead
The single mug shot from the past
Ensures your fantasy can last and last
It gives you the chance to air your hate
Because she got there first, you were too late
Hindley's crime was to do what others think
Took her anger and her prejudice and pushed it to the brink
Then you goodly christian people, with your sickly mask of love
Would tear that woman limb from limb, you'd never get enough
So you keep the story alive, so you can make yourselves believe
That you are so much better than her
But you aren't, that's YOUR GUILT laying there.