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The Threepenny Opera: Pirate Jenny
by
Marianne Faithfull
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Lyrics
You lads see me dunk the gla**es, wash the floors Make the beds, I'm the best of servants You can kindly throw me pennies and I’ll thank you very much You see me ragged and tattered in this dirty sh*t hotel You don't know in hell who's talking You still don’t know in hell who's talking Still one fine day there will be roars from the harbour And you'll ask, "What is all that screeching for?" And you'll see me smiling as I dunk the gla**es And you'll say, "What's she got to smile at for?" And the ship, eight sails shining Fifty-five cannons wide, sir Waits there at the quay You say, "Work on, wipe the gla**es, my girl" And you slip me a dirty six-pence And your pennies will be taken, and your beds will be made I doubt if forty winks will come anybody's way You still don't know in hell who’s talking You still don’t know in hell who's talking Still one fine day there’ll be a loud bang from the harbour And you'll ask, "Jesus Christ, what was that bang?" And you'll see me standing right behind the window And you'll say, "Why has she got the evil eye?" And the ship, eight sails shining Fifty-five cannons wide, sir Will be aimed at this town So then lads, time for tears, no more laughs at the bar For the walls will be at your ankles And look out, lads, the town will be flat as the ground This dirty sh*t hotel will be spared wrack and ruin And you’ll say, "Who's the fancy b*t*h lives there?" You'll say, "Who's the fancy b*t*h lives there?" There'll be rows of people running round the hotel And you'll ask, "Why should they have spared this hovel?" And you'll see me in the morning leaving lightly And you'll say, "That one, her, she lived there?" The same ship, eight sails shining Fifty-five cannons wide, sir Flies crossbones and skull In the midday sun a hundred men will step ashore All tramping where your shadows crawled They'll lay their hands on men, hiding sh*t-scared behind doors Lead them in chains here before this silent woman And they'll say, "Well, which ones shall we kill?" They'll say, "Which ones shall we kill?" Come the dot of twelve, it will be still in the harbour When they ask me, "Well, who's going to die?" And you'll hear me whispering, oh, so sweetly "All of them" And as the soft heads fall, I'll say, "Hop-là!" That same ship, eight sails shining Fifty-five cannons wide, sir Disappears with me
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