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 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.