Head Tucked Under Her Arm

In the Tower of London, largest life, the ghost of Anbalin walks I declare. For Anbalin was once King Henry's wife, until he made the Edsman bobber heir. Oh yes he did her wrong years ago, and she comes up at night to tell him so, with the red.

Underneath her arm she walks the bloody tower. With the red top top. Underneath her arm at the midnight hour. She comes to one king and she means giving him what for. One more! God's up, she's going to tell him off for having spilt her gore.

And just in case the Edsman wants to give her an encore. She has a red tote underneath her arm. Sometimes gaking enriches a spread. Into the spread. For all his pals and gals a ghostly.

And all they grew. The Edsman cards the joint and cuts the bread. Then in comes Anne Boleyn, to quare the do. She holds the red up with a wild war whoop. Doo, doo, doo, doo.

And Henry says, don't drop it in the soup. The soup, the soup, the bread. The red top on beneath her arm. She warts the bloody tower. With the red tuck underneath her arm at the mid-hour.

The sentry spink that it's a football act she carries in, and when they've had a few they shout his army going to win. They think that it's red-grange instead of poor old and bullying. With the red tucked underneath their arm.

Along the drafty corridor for miles and miles she goes. She often catches cold, poor say it's cold there where it blows. And it's awfully awkward for the queen to have to blow her nose. With the red tucked underneath their arm.