The Hanging Judge Songtext

von Paul Roland

The hanging judge woke at midday
With fetid breath and tombstone decay.
Stubble scratch, cold floor feet,
He cursed the whore twixt his crumpled sheets.

The Hanging Judge gin to fix
His gouty leg and twitching ticks,
Belching broad he greets the day,
"Today" says he "is hanging day".

Over nightshirt coarse and stained
His threadbare robes he dons again,
Through cobble streets, gable crowned,
He makes his way through London town.

Fortified with a glass of port he raps the bench "Silence in court",
His birdlike clerk hovers by, "Guilty has charged, hang 'hem high".