Ysabella, beware the Baba Yaga
If you're caught out late at night then
Ysabella, if you see the Baba Yaga
Pestle and mortar in full flight then
Ysabella, run from the Baba Yaga
Run from the Baba Yaga
Run girl, run girl, run
If the Baba Yaga catches you you're done
Ysabella grew up in a house down by the river
With her wicked stepmother and her cruel stepsisters
Who would never lift a finger to get anything done
Leaving little Ysabella as the only one
To venture out into the forest where the stories told
Of a mad, unholy being both capricious and bold
And over overwhelming power, Baba Yaga, infamed
For her appetite for children, Bella's father used to say.
One evening Ysabella found, through no fault of her own
That she was still out in the forest when she should have been at home
And squinting in the darkness for a light to be her guide
Saw the flicker of a lantern in the distance and decided
To make her way towards the light, for little did she know
Baba Yaga watched her as she went below
And swooping down she caught the poor girl in a hempen sack
And took her back to serve her at the chicken-leg shack.
Each day she had to clean the house and yard
And pick the black grains and the white peas
From the never ending wheat.
Cook supper from the mushrooms in the wood
The way the Baba Yaga would
And press the oil from poppy seeds.
She worked her fingers to the bone
And when she thought she was alone
She knelt and clasped her hands to pray.
No sooner had she started speaking
Baba Yaga stood there, screeching
Broken, crippled, howling out in pain.
Ysabella took her chance and bolted for the door
And, panicked, scrambled through the woods the way she had before
Pursued by men on horseback in the dreadful witch's charge
She lost her footing, fell and cracked her head on something hard
And that was the last we saw of Ysabella.