Cool the bath to twenty-five degrees   Boys the man is dead enough for me   Legs and arms are sellin' by the pound   Grind him up and take him into town      Lungs and livers, tongues and feet   Never waste the meat   When times are tough we must get by we must do what we must   These ends shall be our means      Friends I bid you caution should you pass through Drifter's Creek   Expect no welcome from that town unless you be the feast