Tis in the year sixteen hundred and twelve

and the old hags of Taberoux

are sat around in their hovels

making familiars and potions grow

 

Old Bessie has just turned  seventy-three

and has one arm and one eye

''She's in league with the devil himself, she is''

we hear the village folk cry

 

Young Margaret is but a child of ten 

and already learning the skills

to hex the local vicarage

and kill sucking babies at will

 

Old Lizzie, leaning on a cane

limped up to a horse and a man

''Give me just a bit of change, sir, if you possibly can''

He raised his whip above her head

and brought it across her face

''Get out of here, you hideous crone

Go away, leave this place''

 

The magistrate was struck down dead

Twas the work of that old bag

Old Lizzie with the cane

all the villagers they do dread

to see her evil expression

What was left of her scar-filled face

She was truely ugly and grotty

A complete and utter disgrace

 

The crops are ruined! The ale is flat!

Mrs Woodrow has lost her babe!

Mr Thompson has a fever!

On the women they lay their blame

So they gather together a lynch mob

and raise their hovels to the ground

''The witches must burn and die at once

so they really must be found''

 

They find old Bessie, old Lizzie and young Margaret hiding by the stream

The mob of angry protesters begin to shout and scream

as they run at speed towards them

and lob their weapons with fury

''You'll be dealt with by us'' they angrily rant

not by courts nor judge nor jury''

 

The evil witches ran for cover

while spitting their venom with jeers

''May the devil cast you into hell

for eternity and many more years''

 

There was a mighty battle fought that night

between the witches and their enemies

but after several hours the women were finally bought to their knees

as the villagers bound them to a pyre

and burned them alive for their evil deeds