From
: Gentlemen?
:
Aw, crap, singing. Mind if I smoke?
:
Cigar’s are evil, you won’t miss ’em.
We’ll find ways to simulate that smell.
What a sorry fella! Rolled up and smoked
like a collicella, here on level one of Robot Hell!
Gambling’s wrong and so is cheating, so is f
orging phony I.O.U.s. Let’s let Lady
Luck decide what type of torture’s justified,
I’m pit force here on level two!
Ooh, deep-fried robot!
:
Just tell me why!
:
Just read this fifty-five page warrant.
:
There must be robots worse than I!
:
We checked around, there really aren’t.
:
Then please let me explain, my crimes were merely boyish pranks.
:
You stole from boy scouts, nuns and banks!
:
Aw, don’t blame me, blame my upbringing!
:
Please stop sinning while I’m singing!
Selling bootleg tapes is wrong,
musicians need that income to survive.
:
Hey, Bender gonna make some noise!
With your hard drive scratched by the Beastie Boys!
That’s what-cha what-cha what-cha get on level five!
:
I don’t feel well!
:
It’s up to us to rescue him.
:
Maybe he likes it here in hell?
:
It’s us who tempted him to sin.
:
Maybe he’s back at the motel?
:
Come on, Fry, don’t be scared! I’m sure at least one of us will be spared, so sit back and enjoy the ride.
:
My ass has blisters from the slide!
:
Fencing diamonds, fixing cockfights,
publishing indecent magazines.
You’ll pay for every crime! Knee-deep in
electric slime! You’ll suffer ’till the end
of time, enduring tortures, most of
which rhyme, trapped forever, here in
Robot Hell!