Rusty Jaw

Foolish foodie picnic in the castle ruins high.
Spilling Shloer so carelessly around.
The warning signs have faded and the people of the town.
Forgot the terror looking underground.
Fancy Dan the basket man, filling up on pie.
Spilled a Blue Nun deep into the pit.
Soon the bones assembled there will star to join and knit.
A lordly monster rising from the crypt.

Back from the grave.
There's no escape
Vengeance that comes for us all
Stalking the night.
Laughing behind.
Steel Teeth in a Rusty Jaw.
Risen again.
Feasting on men.
Resort to a primitive law.
Head on a spike.
Ready to strike.
Steel Teeth in a Rusty Jaw.

His fancy clothes are bogging and his sharp face is all rusty.
They killed him and it made him quite annoyed.
He's a rakish auld boldie, his brain jam is mouldy.
Upon a time he fed on oiks.
But times they're a changing and thirsting for brains.
Isn't de rigueur in modern days
Aggressive rabble drive him back to his castle.
Throwing half-full cans at his head.

Remember the time when he drank all the wine.
But the wine was blood and guts and human balls.
But the story is true, the locals recall.
How they split his skull and shat him up the walls.
Burnt and shot and kicked and hung, and spat at in the face.
And called a cruel name to top it off.
He's a symbol of redundant aristocracy.
Who somehow keeps returning in our songs.