Head Under Her Arm

London largest light, the ghost of Anne Boleyn walked sidey clear. Poor Anne Boleyn was once king and a reek-white, until he made the Edsman bobber in. Aye, yes he did it wrong long years ago, and she comes up at night to tell him so, With the red, chopped, underneath the ramp.

She walks the bloody tower, with the red, chopped, underneath the ramp at the bid. Now, an hour is, she comes to walking and she means giving him what for. Gads up, she's going to tell him off her having spilled her gold.

And just in case the Edsman wants to give her an encore, she adds a red top underneath her arm. Sometimes gating and re-inses for Edsman. For all his thousand gals and ghosts. The Edsman cards the joints and puts the bread.

Then in comes Anne-Mul-In-Tech, where the dew. She holds her head up with a wild wolf, wolf, wolf, wolf, wolf. And every says, don't drop it in the soup. With the red, talk, talk. Underneath her arms she wokes the bloody flower.

With the red, talk, talk, talk. Underneath her arm, add the midnight hour. The sentries think that it's a football that she carries in. And when they've had a few, they shout his army going to win.

They think that it's not Blanchard's set of poor old Anne Boleyn with their heads tucked underneath their arms. Along the draft, he corridors for miles and miles she goes. She often catches cold, boy, think it's cold there when it's low.

And he's awfully awkward for the queen to have to blow her nose With her egg tuck underneath her arm Under the light, with her egg tuck It tuck underneath her arm