| In the Rue des Blancs-Manteaux
|
| They raised a wooden stage
|
| Threw some bran in a basket
|
| And there was the scaffold
|
| In the Rue des Blancs-Manteaux
|
| In the Rue des Blancs-Manteaux
|
| The executioner rose at dawn
|
| He had a job to do
|
| He must chop the generals, bishops and admirals too
|
| In the Rue des Blancs-Manteaux
|
| Into the Rue des Blancs-Manteaux
|
| Came the well-bred women
|
| With their precious jewels
|
| But the heads they turned them
|
| Rolling from on high
|
| Heads stuck in their hats
|
| In the gutter of the Blancs-Manteaux |