John Lee, your headache's growing, the cold wind's blowing But the sea's without a ripple John Lee, your forehead's damp, your muscles cramp And the sea can't use a cripple (Chorus) John Lee, you're turning around your plate again Oh, John Lee John Lee, you're turning around your plate again Oh, John Lee John Lee's been made a freeman, his heart's a seaman But his flesh won't make a sailor Working in a big hotel, waiting for the bell That's ringing for his labour (Chorus) John Lee, your chances are good, you better touch wood We think things must get better John Lee, you've a friend so true, she wants to help you Miss Keyes has sent a letter (Chorus) "Dear John, come and work the Glen, just write me when And I'll send someone to meet you" John's gone to where he started from, he's not worked long, just beginning to belong "It hasn't been a very good day, the missus wants to halve my pay Close the door and douse the light, it's quiet at night when she's tucked in tight Sometimes I feel, when they're all in bed, it's almost like the whole world's dead So I lay me down to sleep, I pray thee Lord my soul to keep" (Chorus) (Chorus) "The customary quiet of Babbacombe, a residential suburb of Torquay, was greatly disturbed early on Saturday morning and the peaceful inhabitants roused to a state of intense alarm and terror by one of the most frightful tragedies that human devilment could plan or human fiend could perpe- trate. The name of the victim was Miss Emma Anne Whitehead Keyes, an elderly lady of some sixty-eight years. The name of her home, the scene of her tragedy, was 'The Glen'. She was found early in the morning, lying on her dining room floor. Her throat had been horribly cut and there were three wounds on her head. It was evident that her murderer had also attempted to burn the corpse."