Gold Knuckle Bill worked for old money,
that right there's good ol' Gold Knuckle Bill.

Set up with big contracts with all the trade comp'nies,
that's my boy, ol' Gold Knuckle Bill.

Clear out the Mhun, they said o'er ale,
that ain't hardly a job for Gold Knuckle Bill.

Got just the thing, he said with a grin,
and took all his things to the top of the hill.

Well Gold Knuckle Bill, he had a mean trick,
no job too dirty for ol' Gold Knuckle Bill.

A cauldron o' chymicals and poisonous gas,
the right sort o' medicine, the sort that can kill.

Ol' Gold Knuckle Bill fanned the mixture for hours,
and piped that hot sonuvabitch into the hill.

He lit up a smoke and said that was just fine,
no money's too easy for ol' Gold Knuckle Bill.

You ain't no man if you don't look your prey in the eye,
and ain't no kinda man was Gold Knuckle Bill.

I told him as much and he barked a laugh in my face,
said I weren't nothin' more than a shill.

Got my hands 'round his neck and did that sorry bastard in,
scattered his oils and potions an' smoke with a spill.

So we don't ever go 'round that mountain again,
and we don't ever worry about ol' Gold Knuckle Bill.

Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 8th of Slyphian, in the year 459 MA.