[Ominous guitar intro] [Cool, exciting verse] Come sit on by the fire a little This tale is not of Johnny's fiddle Nor the tale of a boy named Sue This one is of the witch's brew... ... A superstitious southern town Had put six witches six feet down There was one witch not laid to rest The wild witch of the wicked west... ... [Spoken] Boy, that Town's in fer trouble... ... On broomstick, this ol' witch flew in That southern town to see her kin Instead she found six fresh new plots And vowed to see that small town rot... ... She weaved a spell to taint their beer The taps were tapped, forever clear She robbed the townsfolk of their spirits With a chant for all to hear it [Music builds into chorus] [Powerful, singable chorus with background "oooh's"] Rootin', tootin' toil n' shootin' Fire burn and cowboy bootin' Eye of newt and spicy beans Toe of frog and denim jeans Whiskey, grits n' demon spittle Tossed into my iron griddle With the tannin' of our hides Somethin' wicked this way rides! [Short instrumental] [Excited spoken] Let's see what that wild witch is brewin' boys! [Cool, exciting verse] With the town dry of its booze The witch concocted wild brews She packaged up... in mason jars And sold them to the local bars... ... She sold her poison... for a dime Her moonshine stills worked... overtime To make sure every single soul In that small town would pay their toll... ... [Spoken shouted] Tell us what happened next! ... The folks got sick... one week in Another passed... the living thinned In two more weeks the town was gone And so the wild witch moved on... ... Some people claim in conversation To this day... her incantation Can be heard in that ghost town And if you hear, you best turn 'round [Instrumental] [Spoken excitedly] Aw, fellers! [Spoken excitedly] I think it's about time we ride outta here! [Music builds into chorus] [Powerful, singable chorus with background "oooh's"] Rootin', tootin' toil n' shootin' Fire burn and cowboy bootin' Eye of newt and spicy beans Toe of frog and denim jeans Whiskey, grits n' demon spittle Tossed into my iron griddle With the tannin' of our hides Somethin' wicke-ed... thiiiis waaaay riiiiiiiiiiiiiiides! Ah-hahahaha...! ... [Spoken] Best beware'a them witches... [End on a beautiful and ominous chord]
