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Oh the world will sing of an English King
A thousand years from now,
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And not because he passed some laws
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Or had that lofty brow.
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While bonny good King Richard leads
The great crusade he's on,
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We'll all have to slave away
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For that good-for-nothin' John!
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Incredible as he is inept,
Whenever the history books are kept,
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They'll call him the phony king of England.
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A pox on the phony king of England!
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He sits alone on a giant throne,
Pretendin' he's the king,
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A little tyke who's rather like
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A puppet on a string,
And he throws an angry tantrum
if he cannot have his way...
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And then he calls for Mum,
while he's suckin' his thumb.
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You see, he doesn't want to play.
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Too late to be known as John the First,
He's sure to be known as John the worst,
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A pox on that phony king of England!
Lay that country on me, babe!
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While he taxes us to pieces
And he robs us of our bread,
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King Richard's crown keeps slippin' down
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Around that pointed head,
Ah! But while there is a merry man
in Robin's wily pack,
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We'll find a way to make him pay
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And steal our money back.
A minute before he knows we're there...
(NO CHORDS)
Ol' Rob'll snatch his underwear!
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The breezy and uneasy king of England,
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The snivellin', grovellin',
Measly, weasely,
Blabberin', jabberin',
Gibberin', jabberin',
Blunderin', plunderin',
Wheelin', dealin',
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Prince John, that phony king of England,
Yeah!