My name is Rosabelle, I was a Texas whore

Dispatched from this sweet world at the age of twenty-four

He was an evil man, beard like twisted wire

Bowie knife at the hips, grin full of sick desire

He filled me with such fear, I haven’t left this place

For over a hundred years, I’ve occupied this space

The home I worked and died in is now a music hall

Where young folks come to drink, and dance to rock 'n' roll

The ladies fix their hair, they barely know I’m here

Even when they squint real hard when looking in the mirror

I miss having a body, though I never grew old

I’m tired of hangin’ round these stupid girls, and the bathroom is awful cold