I’m Wiccan. . .cauldron heat,
And I’m trickin’, but I ain’t a treat.
I’m hopin’ damn fools are backin’ me.

I’ve chosen to mentor me sly Satan,
Who’s the gent for me.
I’m gropin’. . .loose screw, sans sanity.

What am I to do when a spell runs dry?
Imprecate and call on my guy
To help me and use evil eye.
It’s true: pretty crazy am creepy I.

I’m Wiccan, brimstone heat,
And I’m and I’m shtikin’, but I stick my feet
In open trap, just like Georgie B.

I’ve chosen to mentor me sly Satan,
Who’s the gent for me.
I’m gropin’, and I find ecstasy.

That was just a ruse when I yelled that I
Thought that it ain’t right, south to hie.
Every night I am wickin’ dry my pie. . .
Stirring pot with frog leg and newt eye.

I’m wickin’, yes, in heat,
And this stickin’ just can’t be beat:
I’m open—dan tool; come whack to me!