Nightbreed (End Credits)

The doors are squeaked, the windows creak, and the ceilings leak, The roofs antique, if you hear a shriek and your legs feel weak, It's the haunted house. There's a dismal moan like a weird trombone, And the old handbone is suddenly thrown, You are all alone with a great unknown, in the haunted house.

There's only one good spirit, it's the spirit in the bottle, With shaking hands you pull the cork and pour some down your throttle. It's a bank of change and a spell of praise, And a gory stain where the duke was slain, and pattico's veins in the haunted house.

From the old oak beam, his corpse, you seem to feel wet stream with a sinister gleam, and you wait with a scream from a horrible dream of the haunted house. But a cavalier with a dreadful, dear tricep, disappear through a chiffon, near anything with fear to the chandelier is the haunted house.

The air is full of clammy clones that cut you by the collar, so gargle night and morning just in case you have to holler. There are lights and sprites and awful sprites in flesh, been tight, but a dead adult knight comes a woman in white, so you're quite alright in the haunted house.

When the old church box flies twelve, there's a knock with a sardin' shock. You remember the lock on the door as a crock-o while you mock at the haunted house? It's as black as pitch in your eyeballs, switchin' the darkest nits into dirty witch, and the lighting switches out of reach in the haunted house.

When the slave is filled the gravy, why is she so pallid? Something was during the pantry when she bets the salad. I filled with prejudice, I'm nearly dead! I saw her head underneath my bedroom out, if you can't, I can do it again!