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Hunters and explorers

Never return

From the acres

In which I lurk

Crocodiles swim

Birds fly away

This swamp was dead

When I was born that day

If you know what's good

You'll stay away

From this swamp

By the close of day

Enter at night

And you might view

Human pieces

Scattered through the Bayou

Best of luck

But you won't survive

Victor Crowley's

Coming for your life

You can run

But he'll find you

Chop you to bits

And rip you in two

Cries for dad bellowing

Through the putrid swamp

Past mutilated bodies

This deformed being stomps

Hatchet in his hand

Tight white-knuckled grip

Your insides and your limbs

From your body he rips

Skin stretched and snapped

tendons ripped away

Limps scattered far and wide

Those who venture here all die

Snags your guts between his fingers

Smell of rotting flesh still lingers

Cadavers littering the marsh

Died so violently and harsh