You Are My Voodoo Child, My Voodoo Child

A Voodoo Prince runs the mini-mart on the corner in our little town on the island. He spends his nights sitting outside in a white vest on a white plastic chair, bellowing greetings to all passersby.

By day he is the Voodoo Prince and he makes potions. He possibly eats children too, judging from his rock hard belly and he coats his skin in powder made from bones ground down to dust.

If you venture over to his little gas station (a literal shack with three sides), he'll fill any vehicle you like with Voodoo Juice. Voodoo Juice is costly but it never runs dry if you believe. If you don't believe then it just works like regular gas.

I love the Voodoo Prince, who invited us tonight to a Thai Boxing Match. He looks into my soul as I browse the conditioner and he sees things that nobody else can.

He wants me for a Priestess but I shall resist.