A wayward country spirit, with mischievous intent Lurking in the midnight woodland where all hope is spent In wait upon old Neasham road, dimly lit by lanterns glow He haunts this murky realm at dusk, where the waters flow
Dressed in tattered rags, windswept and grim
Beware your soul wary traveller Don't stop on the road wary traveller Sleep well in the village weary traveller For Hob cannot pass the Old Kent Bridge
A lonely drunken coachman in easy prey for Hob In the cold still night, a deadly chill, an eerie call on the wind Hob lurches from the darkness, as if floating on the breeze The horses lost unto the night, the terrified coachmen flees
Clothes as black as Whitby jet, a gaunt and dishevelled figure
Beware Hob Headless, be not careless When you're travelling Neasham bound Beware Hob Headless, for he is restless When you return to Hurworth town
Night upon night he feeds Trick after trick he seeds Until too many travellers bleed
A wizened and hollow spectre, arms too long for his squat body
Buried under a great stone; his woes never felt again For all that sit upon this stone; will never be free again In 99 years and a day; he will rise again And peace will be ruined; he will rise againTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
