It does not bring pleasure to my heart To stand and deliver the sorrowful tale Of the man who now stands in the rattling cart With a mind full of woe and a belly full of ale As God is my witness I shall weep with all of thee When the drop fell comes and his legs kick the air When the highwayman dances on the Tyburn gallows tree. (Продолжить) Tell me is there a man in all England Who would trade his daily toil For a breakneck speed For a handsome lass For a casket of jewels And a life rich and royal. Pounding hooves on moonlit mile Flashing blade in fancies style Lifting gold, lifting dresses, Stealing rubies from princesses. Oh for a week for a night and a day For the rush of the wind and the pistol's bray. Sir! For that life would you gladly be A-dancing with the devil on the Tyburn gallows tree. They call him the Gentleman Highwayman They tell me he speaks with a plum in his throat But how can you chatter in such high company When you've shit in you britches and your neck's in a rope When you're pissing and screaming and gasping for air When your fine leather booties are carving the air? You can dance blindfolded as your last dying plea For you don't need a teacher or a half-baked preacher To learn you how to dance on the Tyburn gallows tree. Gallows tree, gallows tree, How do I love thee gallows tree? Still as the dead Silent as the sun Master of all men Lover of none Silently waiting ne'er blushing nor chasing No asker of secrets No teller of lies Right hand of blind justice Old England's best buttress Cold handed deliverer Feeder of flies Accomplice to murder Mother of shame Gallows tree Gallows tree Bastard of history Gallows tree Taker of Sweet James Macleane.
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