The tale I choose to tell tonight,
is sure to give you quite a fright.
A lamp is lit, and here we sit,
to hear the tale of Old Girt Rit.
They say he’s dead, they say he's not.
They say he’s half way, left to rot.
He walks alone within these trees,
and brings with him a bone chill breeze.
He waits for young ones, just like you.
To make a camping trip come true.
And watches as the embers dull,
he counts each head, each tiny skull.
He waits for you to be the last,
to fall asleep, and then real fast,
he snatches you, and if you yelp,
You soon find out, there's not much help.
Cuz when Old Girt Rit takes his prize,
Nobody sees but fire-flies.
It’s not until the next day dawn,
They’ll see your missing, lost, and gone.
Of course they’ll blame it on a bear
He slept right here, they'll say, they'll swear
But we know better, don’t we, right?
The truth of Old Girt Rit tonight.
Written By Jason Osmond
Written By Jason Osmond
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