Bob: I've grown accustomed to his face
And dreams of gouging out his eyes.
I've grown accustomed to my hate
My plans to lacerate
To disembowl
To hear him howl.
The very reason that I live
Is plotting how to watch him die.
Homer: BART! Turn down that original cast recording and go to sleep.
Bob: I know this chubby scalawag has made my life a living Hell.
Surely if I drank his blood, I'd be at peace, but well.
Bart: You've grown accustomed to my face.
Bob, gesprochen: This isn't a duet.
Bart, gesprochen: Sorry.
Bob: I've grown accustomed to your fear
Accustomed to revenge
Accustomed to your face.

Und der Mörder ist...

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