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.