Oh the world will sing of an English King
A thousand years from now,
And not because he passed some laws
Or had that lofty brow.
While bonny good King Richard leads
The great crusade he's on,
We'll all have to slave away
For that good-for-nothin' John!
Incredible as he is inept,
Whenever the history books are kept,
They'll call him the phony king of England.
A pox on the phony king of England!
He sits alone on a giant throne,
Pretendin' he's the king,
A little tyke who's rather like
A puppet on a string,
And he throws an angry tantrum
If he cannot have his way...
And then he calls for Mum,
While he's suckin' his thumb.
You see, he doesn't want to play.
Too late to be known as John the First,
He's sure to be known as John the worst,
A pox on that phony king of England!
Lay that country on me, babe!
While he taxes us to pieces
And he robs us of our bread,
King Richard's crown keeps slippin' down
Around that pointed head,
Ah! But while there is a merry man
In Robin's wily pack,
We'll find a way to make him pay
And steal our money back.
A minute before he knows we're there...
Ol' Rob'll snatch his underwear.
The breezy and uneasy king of England,
The snivellin', grovellin',
Prince John, that phony king of England,