With Her Head Tucked Underneath Her Arm

In the Tower of London, large as life

The ghost of Anne Bolyn walks, they declare

Poor Anne Bolyn was once King Henry's wife

Until he made the headsman bob her hair

Ah, yes, he did her wrong long years ago

And she comes up at night to tell him so

With her head tucked underneath her arm

She walks the bloody tower

With her head tucked underneath her arm

At the midnight hour

She comes to haunt King Henry

She means giving him what for

Gadzooks, she's going to tell him off

She's feeling very sore

And just in case the headsman wants to give her an encore

She's has her head tucked underneath her arm

With her head tucked underneath her arm

She walks the bloody tower

With her head tucked underneath her arm

At the midnight hour

The sentries think that it's a football

That she carries in

And when they had a few they shout

"Is Army going to win?"

They think that it's Red Grange instead of poor old Ann Bolyn

With her head tucked underneath her arm

Sometimes gay King Henry gives a spread

For all his pals and gals and ghostly crew

The headsman carves the joint and cuts the bread

Then in comes Anne Bolyn to queer the do

She holds her head up with a wild war whoop

And Henry cries, "Don't drop it in the soup!"

With her head tucked underneath her arm

She walks the bloody tower

With her head tucked underneath her arm

At the midnight hour

One night she caught King Henry

He was in the canteen bar

Said he, "Are you Jane Seymour

Anne Bolyn, or Katherine Parr?

How the sweet san fairyann do I know who you are

With your head tucked underneath your arm?"