Drawn and Quartered

Long gone merrily up high
In hell our fiddler’s swinging:
Long gone! Hanging in the sky
His neck in tightrope wringing
Qua a-a-a-artered and drawn be his intestines!
Qua a-a-a-artered and drawn be his intestines!
Short drop choke him for a while
A dancing, dangling pirate
Take him while he’s still alive
And cut off his all his privates
Qua a-a-a-artered and drawn be his intestines!
Qua a-a-a-artered and drawn be his intestines!
Paid your heinous aweful crimes
They broke off all your fingers
No mor beautiful rhymes
Your Parting song, wer singing
Qua a-a-a-artered and drawn be your intestines!
Qua a-a-a-artered and drawn be your intestines!
Buried soon below, below
Our crippled fiddler swungen
Where no flowers ever grow
No priest or people sungen
Qua a-a-a-artered and drawn be your intestines!
Qua a-a-a-artered and drawn be your intestines!