Alan Pring - Henry Lyrics

The eighth king called King Henry
He's the one that built a fleet
But Henry didn't suppose that
Right beneath his nose, his nose
Tipping, slipping underneath the waves
Was the best of his shipping
The fabulous Mary Rose
There she goes
There she goes

Henry Tudor, chubby, chubby
Not the very kindest hubby
So like the poor Sir Thomas Moore
Like him they are no more
And their necks are feeling very, very sore

A son and heir, that was the thing
To please that rather grumpy king
Six times, it's said, he wed a maid
Oh, will they make the grade, the grade?
Two of them, they didn't make the grade
And they felt the blade,
King Henry's horrid blade
There it goes
There it goes

Henry Tudor, chubby, chubby
Not the very kindest hubby
So like the poor Sir Thomas Moore
Like him they are no more
And their necks are feeling very, very sore
Henry, Henry, Henry Tudor
Henry, Henry, rather grumpy king