I prefer a hazel fork to witch
when cool waters need a’found,
though I have heard some prefer an elm
to help ’em wiggle under ground.
Yes, a feller’s gotta be a whole man
to water witch with any sense;
an untainted branch of hard wood
straight and true, no deviants.
No, I never trust a witch that wiggles
with a weepy willer switch.
And I never mind book-learned folk
claim my witchin’s just coincidence.
If yer watching the sky some dry, winter’s eve
And around the full moon a dull ring you perceive
Don’t ya fret, don’t babble, don’t ya cry, and don’t swoon
Don’t worry a’tall for you’ll all be dead soon
Where a murdered man’s blood stains a worn-out, wood floor
A dark future you’ll read thare forever more
No need to keep searching for shiny, bright boons
Don’t worry a’tall for you’ll all be dead soon
If ya hear buckshot echo o’er green hills and hollers
Or the good colors leech from yer creased, dirty dollars
Remember that ring ya saw circlin’ the moon
Remember it well for you’ll all be dead soon
Jason Preu 