The Witch

The old lady's a witch, the villagers say,
One spell in her cauldron and you're away.
She roams around the place at nights
Talking to her cat, it gives me frights.
If she caught you snooping, looking at 'er pot
She'd stare at you, and, like as not,
You'd fall down dead, bust your 'ead.
She's got powders in funny jars,
and the back room's locked, with bars.
There's many a man, 'as met 'is doom,
and lost his blood, in that back room.
Stares at the moon, and on a full,
She'll kill a cow, or kill a bull.
She flies around, on 'er broom at night,
Yair, she's a witch, a witch all right.

Chris Loft #8 1968