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Spoken version
A recorded reading of “Customer Service with Mr. Satan”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
“Excuse me, Mr. Satan, sir,” I say with a grin, “I’ve come to claim my package, so let’s begin. I’d like the Ozzy Osbourne deal, if you please— a sprinkle of madness, some bats, and disease.” Satan squints, flames flickering in his eye, “Ah yes, the Ozzy—wild ride, no lie. You’ll get leather and grit, a voice forged in fire, plus midnight cravings and chaos to inspire.” I nod like a roadie on his final descent, “Add a touch of whiskey and devilish accent. I want the swagger, the screams, the front-row night— and maybe a bat to chew on mid-flight.” “Done,” says the Devil, with a wicked flare, “Just remember, my friend—no refunds down there.” I sign in ash, my soul in bold flair, and instantly grow eyeliner and unruly hair. But thunder cracks—Ozzy descends in red smoke, Laughing, “Too late now, mate, this ain’t no joke.” “You wanted the legend, but didn’t read fine print— you’re stuck in the madness—hope you like Hell’s stint.” So here I thrash, stuck in this infernal bit, soloing hard while Satan throws a fit. The moral, my friends? When you summon a deal, make damn sure it comes with a return seal.
Alternative version
“Excuse me, Mr. Satan, sir,” I say with a grin, “I’ve come to claim my package, so let’s begin. I’d like the Ozzy Osbourne deal, if you please— a sprinkle of madness, some bats, and disease.” Old Satan squints, tapping his red-tipped claws, “Ah, the Ozzy package? Well, let’s review the clause— you’ll get wild hair, a voice like gravel and nails, plus an appetite for chaos and drinking that never fails.” I nod enthusiastically, ready to sign, “Throw in a lifetime supply of vintage red wine! I want the swagger, the screams, the backstage delight— and maybe a bat to chew on at night.” “Done,” says the Devil, with a devilish grin, “Just remember, my friend, once you’re in—you’re in.” I scribble my name with a flourish and flair, and suddenly I’ve got leather pants and wild hair. But wait—was that thunder? A flash in the sky? Ozzy himself appears with a wild, red eye. “You poor fool,” he laughs, “you’ve sealed your fate— now you’re stuck in this madness, and, mate—it’s too late.” So here I am, rocking out in the pit, playing air guitar while Satan’s having a fit. The moral, my friends, if you find yourself near— never bargain with Hell when you’ve had too much beer.
Lyrics
ozzy deal, ring the bell front desk flames, I grin I ask for the ozzy deal leather and grit, bat bite pour me mad midnight zeal whiskey heat, devil drawl give me the front row brawl he squints, fire in eyes says wild ride, no lies forge my voice in fire feed the chaos choir ring that bell straight to hell ash for ink, I sign soul in bold, no chill liner blooms, hair wild thunder drops red spill ozzy laughs, smoke spins fine print clamps me in I thrash, strings spit lead satan paces, sees red bats wheel over the pit midnight hunger won't quit chew the bat, chew the yell stamp the stage, drop to kneel read fine print or burn in hell ring that bell straight to hell no return, straight to hell
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