Your native language

عربي

Arabic

عربي

简体中文

Chinese

简体中文

Nederlands

Dutch

Nederlands

Français

French

Français

Deutsch

German

Deutsch

Italiano

Italian

Italiano

日本語

Japanese

日本語

한국인

Korean

한국인

Polski

Polish

Polski

Português

Portuguese

Português

Română

Romanian

Română

Русский

Russian

Русский

Español

Spanish

Español

Türk

Turkish

Türk

Українська

Ukrainian

Українська
User Avatar

Sound


Interface


Difficulty level


Accent



interface language

en

Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Cookie policy   |   Support   |   FAQ
1
register / login
Lyrkit

donate

5$

Lyrkit

donate

10$

Lyrkit

donate

20$

Lyrkit

And/Or support me in social. networks:


Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Ye Banished Privateers

They Are Marching Down On High Street

 

They Are Marching Down On High Street

(album: Hostis Humani Generis - 2020)


Down in Old Wapping docks, near the banks and the rocks
Where the gibbets use to sing across the Thames
Every now and every then with a silver oar with them
The Marshals come to visit our block

If you cannot pay your rent, off to prison you'll be sent
Where the gaolers entertain you in the stone hall
Like the tattooed one armed creature, they call the Newgate Preacher
For his tales of liberty he must repent

Hear the royal drums beat and the marching of their feet
A procession is coming down on High Street
And bound to depart they have shackled to their cart
The poor lad who is heading for the docks

But for my own felony, there will be no clemency
As a gentleman of fortune I did serve
Now I'm rolling out of jail, and my final quart of ale
Has been paid for by the Marshall Deputy

Hear the royal drums beat and the marching of their feet
A procession is coming down on High Street
And bound to depart they have shackled to their cart
The poor lad who is heading for the docks

For this morbid dalliance, In hope to catch a glance
My audience has come to see my dance
Like the withered William Kidd, who I'll now be hanging with
As the cart towards the docks has well advanced

I can see my house from here. See, I grew up over there
And I'm still a wapping boy, to this I swear
As the chaplain reads his prayers, I climb the wooden stairs
And my true love stands there staring at the snare

Hear the royal drums beat and the marching of their feet
A procession is coming down on High Street
And bound to depart they have shackled to their cart
The poor lad who is heading for the docks

Oh close your eyes walk away now my love
Don't be here when the tide leaves in the morning
And I'll see you at the heavenly gates
Where my face will be as handsome as today

Hear the royal drums beat and the marching of their feet
A procession is coming down on High Street
And bound to depart they have shackled to their cart
The poor lad who is heading for the docks

done

Did you add all the unfamiliar words from this song?