It said his blade weighed half a tonne,

O’ Spanish steel, Christ how it shone,

With a whistle & thump yer dash were done,

And the axe cared not for who you were,

He kept a cell below the tower,

Where he signed the cross every half an hour,

With a calf skin drum & a rattle tat taa,

The Jolly Executioner.

He had a son, a drunken sailor,

Coulda been a Tinker, Tyke, or tailor,

Sailed away to far Australia,

To be the executioner,

His rope were short, his knots were tight,

He’d plait the hemp by candle light,

With a crack & twang ye bade goodnight,

To the Jolly Executioner.

String em high & stretch em well,

Burn a candle, strike a bell,

Pipe their rotten souls to hell,

For the Jolly Executioner.

Then some bloke with a kite & key,

Invented electricity,

And the job were handed down to me,

So fortunate you wish you were,

I’ve cooked em all, the crooks & crumbs,

The vagabonds & hapless bums,

With a crackle & pop, ‘Ol’ Sparky’ sung,

For the Jolly Executioner.

I had a son, near broke me heart,

A stand alone, a breed apart,

Brought death unto a dying art,

A general Practitioner,

All white lab coats & PHD’s,

And 10cc’s of anti-freeze,

A noble art brought to its knees,

Farewell to the Executioner.