Knock, knock, Pumpkinhead fool,

Pumpkinhead, can you hear me?

Cause I think you're just full of air,

But I'm here to play a bitter game.

And I know it's coming time of year,

Where pranks and scares abound us,

But why that spindle swiveling weird?

Ah, here jostling to prepare a meal of royal hallow,

Yet they clack'n dat knee left into a fearish hobble,

Ohh right, it's just another slender a’creepn spider,

A tangled network of fear, and so hungry, m'dear.

Gotta worry, Beard's box-dye-black witch's stare is tryn to cackle my eye insecure,

deGrees keeps an off-knocker Lainey-Bat close handy, twisting up untied pumpkins,

She's even got a gassy travel’n broomwagon to tempt this tawny’s wistful first date.

They trying to bag-a-head and bake a dumb Pumpkinhead cake!

Dem types always willing to shred open up a shrew-looking veg,

And a Pumpkinhead be a fine patch atop a lufty Prince's airhead.

And yet, whenever they punch at shelled edge,

Smashing at this stupid orange, sorelined face,

Their hands only slime of seedy-sticky disgrace.

But Beard deGrees knows how to shuffle stick a motley hallow crew,

A rabid pack of black and white always been their dull mindless rue,

With bully mouths and secret ears bending in a'creeper listening way,

And like no haunting before, did they treat on the poor's spiritual sways.

It’s troubl’n too, cause if Fur Pepe Pigeonrat of Rottenseed amoks freely, 

I’m not too sure anyone will think clearly in such a grand wafting smellery.

So, gotta tell ya true, this damn Pumpkinhead is tired of wolfish bullying ways,

Thou, admittedly, a Beard moans on moon nights, becoming an excitable pup,

But a Pigeonrat only rolls thicker into sewer shit, plaguing everyone around him.

Best part of being a Pumpkinhead used to be,

You got to fill your empty head with anything,

Toxicated on whatever, till it flow'd out ur eyes.

But a rancid raty smell'n is a-coming,

So I gotta mind da patch to still breath.

And while a night sighting of a haunting can be sumthin daunting, coming at ya all a’sudden,

This here Pumpkinhead knows; a rolling, open-mouthed shit-for-seeds…is frightening indeed.

All along, this dumb Pumpkinhead Twirl only wanted to spring a field bountiful,

Rest’n growth under the sun, brush’n neighbours, and fruit’n all ova-da place.