Scarecrow ! Scarecrow !
The soldiers of the king feared his name. Scarecrow !
On the southern coast of England, there's a legend people tell,
Of days long ago when the great Scarecrow would ride from the jaws of Hell
And laugh with a fiendish yell !
With his clothes all torn and tattered, through the black of night he'd ride,
From the marsh to the coast like a demon ghost
He'd show his face then hide
And he'd laugh till he split his side !
So the king told all his soldiers, « hang him high or hang him low,
But never return till the day I learn he's gone in flames below
Or you'll hang - with the great Scarecrow ! »
Scarecrow ! Scarecrow !
The soldiers of the king feared his name.
Scarecrow ! Scarecrow !
The country folk all loved him just the same. Scarecrow !
He would always help the farmer, when there was no gold to bring,
He'd find a way for the poor to pay the taxes of the king
« Scarecrow ! » - every man would sing !
Scarecrow ! Scarecrow !
The soldiers of the king feared his name.
Scarecrow ! Scarecrow !
The country folk all loved him just the same.
Scarecrow ! Scarecrow ! Scarecrow !