Deep in the forests of Louisiana / Is a swamp where the water is black / And nestled in the arms of a great oak tree / There sits a twisted old shack.
There are no lights, just and old iron stove / And I can feel the warmth that it gives / And my brother’s and I aren’t allowed to go / ‘Cuz that’s where the bad man lives.
At night I hear howling like wolves on the prowl / And I can see all the things that they see / And I hear the voices of young girls calling / And it sounds like their calling to me.
And I know it shouldn’t matter, but I have to know / I just want to see what it is / And I know shouldn’t want to, but I have to go / To the house where the bad man lives.
And on a night like this, If I’m feeling quite brave / I might venture into that place / And in the dim glow, of the old iron stove / I’ll look into the bad mans face.
I’ll open the door of that rusted old shack / And I’ll pray that Heaven forgives / ‘Cuz I know if I go that I’ll never come back / Because that’s where the bad man lives.