| 1789 |
|---|
| Oh seventeen eighty nine, hunger’s scream |
| The guillotine asks for a dusting, fix its blade |
| How many more kings are here to stay? |
| How many more heads upon the necks? |
| Today the king isn’t clean, bring a sponge |
| So we can clean all the blood from the lord |
| How many more kings are here to stay? |
| How many more heads upon the necks? |
| Oh seventeen eighty nine, citizens born |
| Let’s hope it lasts a hundred thousand million years |
| How many more kings are here to stay? |
| How many more kings are here to die? |
