I’m a voodoo chile, lord I’m a voodoo chile.
Yeah.
The night I was born, lord the moon stood a fire red.
Said the night I was born, the moon turned a fire red.
My poor mother her cryin’, she said «The gypsy was right!»
And she fell right dead.
Hey, and he said «Fly on, fly on!», ’cause I’m a voodoo chile, baby
voodoo chile.