Don't mind the scratching. Don't answer the call. Whatever you hear don't look under at all. Moss on the stones, bones sunk in the mud, Crooked old trees drinking hard from the flood. Something down below got a taste for feed, Yellow eyes flashing through the river weeds. They sleep till morning, wake with the moon, Humming old songs in a dead man's tune. If you hear breathing under your feet, Keep your eyes ahead Hear that knocking under the stone, Three slow knocks and you're not alone. Hear that laughter down in the mire? Run, boy, run they've caught your fire. UNDER THE BRIDGE! Where the black roots grow, Where the swamp runs deep and the cold winds blow. UNDER THE BRIDGE! Where the lost souls crawl, Big old trolls gonna feast tonight when the darkness falls. Stamp your boots, say your prayers, but don't you cross alone Cause the trolls beneath that crooked bridge will grind your bones to stone. Old Mama Troll with her snapped teeth, Papa drags a hook where the ankle bones meet. Little ones grin, spitting black mud at men, They cook up rats, snort and snarl again. Hear those footsteps under the ground, Hear those chains getting dragged around. One wrong turn through the twisted pines And your name gets carved where the dead vines climb. UNDER THE BRIDGE! Where the black roots grow, Where the swamp runs deep and the cold winds blow. UNDER THE BRIDGE! Where the lost souls crawl, Big old trolls gonna feast tonight when the darkness falls. Stamp your boots, say your prayers, but don't you cross alone Cause the trolls beneath that crooked bridge will grind your bones to stone. Granddad said, "Boy, listen close, his coffee can of nails rattling at his hip, when that bridge goes quiet, turn your back. Don't set one boot on that mossy plank, don't answer a sound when it calls you back. If the water hushes and the boards start to hum, keep your head down, keep your lantern low. And if you see footprints where nobody's been, you leave right now you don't go slow. UNDER THE BRIDGE! Where the black roots grow, Where the swamp runs deep and the cold winds blow. UNDER THE BRIDGE! Hear the old Troll King call, He's been sharpening his teeth all night And he's hungry for us all. Stamp your boots, say your prayers, better leave that road alone 'Cause the trolls beneath that crooked bridge are waiting for you The forest went quiet. The river stood still. Then something underneath the bridge whispered. Who's that crossing?
