A wicked Kansas wind blows
strong, maliciously.
I try to escape that wind, go
along with extended family.
But I fail, I fail.

Tornados sure can be a bitch;
for the cellar I have an itch.
But I’m stuck out here in a ditch, damn!
Make it to house, which starts to pitch.

The house drops, hard as a boulder;
under it feet I see.
Looks like a witch, and she starts to smolder, briefly.
Then I’m chained
to sis, chained.

Because I am her sister’s bitch,
which makes me the bitch of a bitch, damn!
She treats me like a friggin’ snitch.
And so…

must be appeasin’ of the witch,
must be appeasin’ of the witch, damn!
Must be appeasin’ of the witch.

But I don’t like this servile niche,
in which I am the witch’s bitch.
A bucket of water I pitch!

Eau go!

I’ve brought deceasin’ of the witch, yeah!
I have wrought ceasin’ of the witch.