The Beast

Late at night in Rosie’s Pub in a room marked 666
You can hear some wicked music as the devil the mix
And if you dare to venture where the Tennessee waters flow
On a mattress in the corner, you’ll find the legend from Mayo
Aside the piles of dishes, and the charred remains of priests
Underneath the bedclothes, between the mouldy sheets
Lies the mother of all pluckers, the high priest of freaks
The legend on the mattress, is the man they call «The Beast.»