Horrible Histories - Joan Of Arc Lyrics
Ok, pamplemousse, baguette and brie. Are you ready?I'm Joan Of Arc from Domremy, religious visions came ter me.GOd said 'Save France from the English' and make Dauphin Charles, king!Dauphin means heir to the throne, but England claimed the crown as their own.We had a hundred years of war. This girl had to do something!So I did it like a dude, cut my hair.Gave up wearing dresses, bought a pair.Of trousers, no blouses. Said I wanna fight Angleterre.Charles let me join the army, army, army.Know that might sound barmy, barmy, barmy.I proved impressive,Hit by an arrow a-a-and lived.English troops I over ranny, ranny, ranny.Defeated them at Patay, Patay, Patay.We saved Orle-eans and Charles was crowned tres bon!Me leading troops- a long shot,But I was a lucky mascot.Inspired soldiers with brav-er-y.Fought injured and sur-vived.But in 1430, Burgundians captured me!King Charles couldn't pay my ransom.No-one told me, why!Being prisoner was not my style, tried escaping from my capture's vile.But then the English who fought me, bought me! Made me stand, trial!So where was King Charlie, Charlie, Charlie?He'd given up and left me, left me, left me.In the Engli-ish snare.Whole thing so un-fair.They put me in a uh- hu? N-nunnery.They said don't be uh-hu? F-funnery.If you dress like a-a male.We'll put you in men's jail.Joan of Arc? You're charged with sorcery.You're just jealous cos God speaks ter me.Say you speak to saints? In this discourse? What language do they speak?French o'course.Pah! Now you're in prison, they have failed yer.I say it's God's plan that you're my jailer.Here's a trick question in that case. Do you think you're in God's grace... ?If I am not, may God put me there, and if I am, may God so keep me.Oh your smart remarks go round the houses.You're guilty of heresy.( and wearing men's trousers)Despite my testimony, mony, mony.Condemned for reasons phony, phony, phony.But my will did no-ot break.So they tied me to a-a stake.Burned alive was my destiny, tiny, tiny.And here is the irony, rony, rony.My death led France to put on war paint.And crush the English so now, I'm a saint.
