In the tower of London, large as life
The ghost of Anne Boleyn walks, they declare.
Queen Anne Boleyn was once King Henry's wife
Until he had the headsman bob her hair.
Oh, yes, he did her wrong, long years ago,
And she comes back 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 old King Henry,
She wants giving him what-for.
Gadzooks! She wants to tell him off
For having spilled her gore,
And just in case the headsman
Wants to give her an encore
She's got her head tucked underneath her arm.
The beefeaters all know her well by sight;
To see her in such straits fills them with grief,
And when she comes around their hut at night
They always ask her in to share their beef.
She thanks them, and then with a puzzled frown
She asks them how she's going to get it down.
With her head tucked underneath her arm
She walks the bloody tower.
With her head tucked underneath her arm
At the midnight hour.
Around the drafty corridors for miles and miles she goes.
She often catches cold, poor thing; it's cold there when it blows,
And it's awfully trying for the Queen to have to blow her nose
With 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.
She came to old King Henry, he was in the canteen bar.
Said he, "Are you Jane Seymour, Anne of Cleves, or Catherine Parr?
For how the great San Julian do I know who you are
With your head tucked underneath your arm?"
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Lyrics submitted by Leslie Turriff.