Mother and daughter, the witch and the crone Ugly as winter with legs thin as bone As my house turns on its four chicken feet I hunger for young men to lure in and eat
Baba Yaga Baba Yaga They call me Baba Yaga Baba Yaga
Mortar and pestle, a mop and a broom Will I assist or send to your doom I'll give you a riddle I'll give a rhyme Answer it quickly before dinner time
Baba Yaga Baba Yaga They call me Baba Yaga Baba Yaga
Death or the goddess, to aid or deceive Many weird faces deep in the trees Dare you to find me, I dare you to try But lad if you trick me then yours is to die
Baba Yaga Baba Yaga They call me Baba Yaga Baba Yaga