In a gra**y cove off a lonely road
Some travellers made their stop
Five caravans stuck like warts on a toad
In a hedgerow parking lot
A silver moon lay overhead
The ground around it shone
As their camp fires and portable T. V.s flickered
Then expired one by one by one by one by one
Suddenly into the night
There comes a sound primeval
A baying screeching scraping sound
Of undiluted evil
Travellers wake and wet themselves
Their dogs bark to the night
Though they know not what lurks in those fields
Heard but out of sight
Wolves the wolves of Worcestershire
Striking fear, striking fear
Wolves the wolves of Worcestershire
Striking fear into the hearts
Of the denizens of those deserted parts
Retired judges tremble
From inside rose clad bungalows
Fruit picker vigilantes
Stand picking strawberries on their toes
All around this ancient shire
The local people live and cower
(The Villager's Refrain)
'Never walk in woods alone
When evening comes don't ever roam
Little children have been known
To be eaten up and left as bones
On their way home from school
So bar your windows, bolt your homes
And never never never never
Never never never never
Never never never never
Never never never never
Walk in woods in Worcestershire alone'
Foxes in the suburbs, squirrels in the parks
Starlings in the mausoleums
Swallows in the dark
Battles in the belfry
Buckshot in the deer
Weevils in the windmills
...and wolves in Worcestershire