Lopin’ this lug, at night, not by day.
You’ll likely die, girl, if you should sashay
Past supper time.

He’ll never get tired of hunting you down—
On the ground your blood will spout, turning brown,
Then a crusty rime.
Don’t let him commit that crime

’cause your beau Earle will be a wolfman—moon’s
Up, he’s not man.
Earle will be a wolfman soon—
Don’t post the banns!

He ain’t misunderstood when he takes a life,
And when he’s slayin', Earle’s bicuspid’s a knife—
That boy’s no good!

They’ll be hunting him down to settle up the score,
And if they get the chance, he’ll sever no more
In this ’hood.
Until then I wish you would
Night strolls eschew.

Girl, up comes the wolfman moon—
Dude won’t be a man.
Earle will be a wolfman groom—
Doomed, your wedding plan.