At night on a Friday at the cemetery
Our friend Aurthur told some very scary stories
I don't think any of us will ever go back
Because that night we were attacked by a ghost
We were drinking and laughing at the grave of Morgan
Didn't know the whole time we were pissing off the ghost of Morgan
Civil War vet anger reached across the veil
And tried to drag our drunk asses to Hell
Travis ran and I caught up
Aurthur didn't have nearly as good of luck
His neck was throttled by the ghost of an old man
He died that night with a beer bottle in hand
At the stroke of Midnight, Morgan stalks his usual haunt
The souls of sinning teenagers is what he truly wants
In life he fought wearing Confederate Grey
And in death he dons the uniform to defend his grave
Old Man Morgan's grave is shrouded in the myst
Old Man Morgan don't take no shit from kids
Old Man Morgan murdered one of my best friends
Old Man Morgan's gonna fucking pay for this
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