Marianne Faithfull - Pirate Jenny lyrics

You lads, see me dunk the glasses, wash the floors

Make the beds, I'm the best of servants

You can kindly throw me pennies and I'll thank you very much

When you see me ragged and tattered in this dirty shit hotel

You don't know in hell who's talking

You still don't know in hell who's talking

Still one fine day there will be roars from the harbour

And you'll ask, "What is all that screeching for?"

And you'll see me smiling as I dunk the glasses

And you'll say, "What's she got to smile at for?"

And the ship, eight sails shining

Fifty-five cannons wide, sir

Waits there at the quay

You say, "Work on, wipe the glasses, my girl"

And just slip me a dirty six-pence

And your pennies will be taken and your beds will be made

But I doubt if forty winks will come anybody’s way

And you still don’t know in hell who’s talking

You still don’t know in hell who’s talking

Still one fine day there’ll be a loud bang from the harbour

And you'll ask, "Jesus Christ, what was that bang?"

And you'll see me standing right behind the window

And you'll say, "Why has she got the evil eye?"

And the ship, eight sails shining

Fifty-five cannons wide, sir

Will be aimed at this town

So then lads, it's time for tears, no more laughs at the bar

For the walls will be at your ankles

And look out, lads, the town will be flat as the ground

This dirty shit hotel will be spared wrack and ruin

And you'll say, "Who is the fancy bitch there?"

You'll say, "Who is the fancy bitch there?"

There'll be rows of people running round the hotel

And you'll ask, "Why should they have spared this hovel?"

And you'll see me in the morning leaving lightly

And you'll say, "That one, her, she lived there?"

The same ship, eight sails shining

Fifty-five cannons wide, sir

Flies crossbones and skull

In the midday sun a hundred men will step ashore

All tramping where your shadows crawled

They'll lay their hands on men, hiding shit-scared behind doors

Lead them in chains here before this silent woman

And they'll say, "Well, which one shall we kill?"

They'll say, "Which one shall we kill?"

Come the dot of twelve, it will be still in the harbour

When they ask me, "Well, who is going to die?"

And you'll hear me whispering, oh, so sweetly, "all of them!"

And as the soft heads fall, I'll say, "hop-là!"

That same ship, eight sails shining

Fifty-five cannons wide, sir

Disappears with me