where the buzzards soar so high
You'll come upon a wooden shack
that seems to touch the sky,
And if you dare approach it
with a soft and stealthy tread,
You'll see the bones a'hanging
from the trees with crimson thread.
And then, if you're still bold enough
to tiptoe closer still,
you might approach a window frame
and peer in over the sill.
Inside you'd see a wall of shelves
with jars of many things,
Like dried bats blood and spiders legs,
and worms and insect wings.
And if you want to see some more,
as foolish people do,
You'll likely see a roaring fire
with cauldron in plain view.
Perhaps by now you're feeling scared
as you know who lives here,
The voodoo woman known as Meg,
the one that people fear.
Who for a price will make a brew
to torment a poor soul,
or make a waxen effigy
to melt on a hot coal.
She curdles milk with just a glance,
misfortune is her gift,
and if she has you in her sights
she sets your wits adrift.
And voodoo Meg would have no qualms
if she should catch you there,
of turning you into a frog,
she really would not care!
So I would turn around my friend,
some things are best not known,
For if you don't, you could become
another hanging bone!
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