Gather 'round all you boils and ghouls
For a camp fire story that'll make you drool
I'm not the Crypt Keeper, I'm just creep
But I'll tell you 'bout the Witchdoctor of Wormwood Beach
He's wheelchair bound and he has no legs
He doesn't hang at the mall, he lives in a cave
He gnaws on rats and crabs and the occasional bat
His rotten dreads dangle down to the crack of his a**
Came from a tribe that ran rum and guns
Exiled for blasting on the bone carved drums
Shrunken heads and fetishes hang from his sleeves
What's his name you ask? His name is Steve!
The cave was one at the end of the beach
Near the one where Goreshack came into being
He watched all day as the zombies moshed and banged
Some new kind of action is what Steve craved
He gathered up a cauldron and a few supplies
This type of magic takes a special sacrifice
Bats a******* and some tan rats hides
Hipster bones, washed in fresh with the tide
Then he got crazy, and s*** in the vat
And topped it all off with some fresh ear wax
He stirred the concotion with an extra long pole
Creating a potion meant for mind control
He drank the brew and his eyes lit up
Had he made a mistake? Oh Holy f***
a haze took over, he was in another brain
As a zombie he dug his way up out of the sand
Now what would Steve do with his new legs and feet?
Dance or run or jog in place or stroll on down the beach?
only one thing on his mind, he didn't give a s***
He'd surf all day and night and sleaze on s****y b******
He grabbed a board and started to thrash
The biggest of waves, he hacked and he slashed
A shark tried to eat him, he didn't give a f***
He hexed that piece of s*** into a r*****ed duck
We just couldn't believe
What we were seeing
We heard a laugh come from the caves
And knew it was that voodoo creep
He burst from his cave, and released his control
Spinning in circles, and flashing his pole.
So us and Steve the Witchdoctor became best bros
He hung out with the Weredude, and made jewelry out of toes
He surfed all day and night, he would never behave
Some cops tried to bust him, but he cursed them with the AIDS
He was surfing through the eyes of the dead
Mind controlling zombies is his only way to shred
That concludes our campfire tale, and if you don't believe
We can head on down to Wormwood, and hit the tide with Steve!
For a camp fire story that'll make you drool
I'm not the Crypt Keeper, I'm just creep
But I'll tell you 'bout the Witchdoctor of Wormwood Beach
He's wheelchair bound and he has no legs
He doesn't hang at the mall, he lives in a cave
He gnaws on rats and crabs and the occasional bat
His rotten dreads dangle down to the crack of his a**
Came from a tribe that ran rum and guns
Exiled for blasting on the bone carved drums
Shrunken heads and fetishes hang from his sleeves
What's his name you ask? His name is Steve!
The cave was one at the end of the beach
Near the one where Goreshack came into being
He watched all day as the zombies moshed and banged
Some new kind of action is what Steve craved
He gathered up a cauldron and a few supplies
This type of magic takes a special sacrifice
Bats a******* and some tan rats hides
Hipster bones, washed in fresh with the tide
Then he got crazy, and s*** in the vat
And topped it all off with some fresh ear wax
He stirred the concotion with an extra long pole
Creating a potion meant for mind control
He drank the brew and his eyes lit up
Had he made a mistake? Oh Holy f***
a haze took over, he was in another brain
As a zombie he dug his way up out of the sand
Now what would Steve do with his new legs and feet?
Dance or run or jog in place or stroll on down the beach?
only one thing on his mind, he didn't give a s***
He'd surf all day and night and sleaze on s****y b******
He grabbed a board and started to thrash
The biggest of waves, he hacked and he slashed
A shark tried to eat him, he didn't give a f***
He hexed that piece of s*** into a r*****ed duck
We just couldn't believe
What we were seeing
We heard a laugh come from the caves
And knew it was that voodoo creep
He burst from his cave, and released his control
Spinning in circles, and flashing his pole.
So us and Steve the Witchdoctor became best bros
He hung out with the Weredude, and made jewelry out of toes
He surfed all day and night, he would never behave
Some cops tried to bust him, but he cursed them with the AIDS
He was surfing through the eyes of the dead
Mind controlling zombies is his only way to shred
That concludes our campfire tale, and if you don't believe
We can head on down to Wormwood, and hit the tide with Steve!