Beelzebot: We know all your sins, Bender, and for each one, we've prepared an agonizing, and ironic, punishment. Gentlemen?
Bender: Aw, crap, singing. Mind if I smoke?
Cigars 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 Panetela
Here on level one of Robot Hell!
Gambling's wrong and so is cheating.
So is forging phony IOUs.
Let's let lady luck decide
What type of torture's justified.
I'm pit boss here on level two!
[He spins a wheel that Bender is strapped to. Luck decides to deep-fry Bender.]
Beelzebot:[speaking] Ooh! Deep-fried robot!
[CUT TO... Bender is being dipped in what looks like boiling oil, the song has started up again]
Just tell me why!
Please read this 55-page warrant.
There must be robots worse than I!
We've 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. [He steals Beelzebot's wallet.]
Please stop sinning while I'm singing! [He rips off Benders arm]
Selling bootleg tapes is wrong.
Musicians need that income to survive!
[The song turns into a rap]
Hey Bender, gonna make some noise,
With your hard drive scratched by the Beastie Boys!
That's whatcha, whatcha, whatcha get on level five!
[CUT TO... Fry and Leela sliding down an enormous slide, the regular tune returns to the song]
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 just sit back. 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!
[The Robot Devil tosses his hat away and stops singing]
Beelzebot: Of course, that's just for starters.