Well, it was way down South where Sherman
Had Atlanta all a-burnin'
That his only son was shot and stabbed and killed
And to a avoid a lynchin'
For having gon Injun
That surgeon took a post
Out on that bloody battlefield
Well, he's hackin' and he's sawin'
And his chisles all are gnawin'
Through the grit
And through the grime
And through the grue
And he's whistlin' and he's grinnin'
And his eyes are both a-spinnin'
And his skull is burning coldly like the moon
Well, nobody knew how that surgeon's madness grew
Like a fungus in the absence of the sun
How he pieced together limbs
And how he bayed unholy hymns
Like his ancient Shaman master once had done
Well, he's hackin' and he's sawin'
And his chisles all are gnawin'
Through the grit
And through the grime
And through the grue
And he's whistlin' and he's grinnin'
And his eyes are both a-spinnin'
And his skull is burning coldly like the moon
♪
When he saw the body jerk
He knew his necromancy'd worked
Now, 'till the end of days it roams the land
And when it begins to speak
Of the grave, it always reeks
As it vomits up the secrets of the damned
Well, he's hackin' and he's sawin'
And his chisles all are gnawin'
Through the grit
And through the grime
And through the grue
And he's whistlin' and he's grinnin'
And his eyes are both a-spinnin'
And his skull is burning coldly like the moon
Then several graves were pillaged
And the women of the village
Met the knife and hook of lonely Saw Jones
And the men had had enough
And got a posse up to snuff him
But all they found was Junior
Suckin' marrow from his bones
Well, he's hackin' and he's sawin'
And his chisles all are gnawin'
Through the grit
And through the grime
And through the grue
And he's whistlin' and he's grinnin'
And his eyes are both a-spinnin'
And his skull is burning coldly like the moon