by R. P. Weston and Bert Lee Beefeater Spoken: Oh dear, starting another day I suppose, showing these ‘ere gumps around the Tower. Still, it’s got to be done, someone’s got to do it. Good Morning! What’s that? Will I show you around t’Tower, Sir? You’re from Yorkshire, Sir? Ba goom! The world’s small. I’m from Yorkshire meself... aye; These ‘ere Cockneys don’t know there’s a tower here at all.' First of all, Sir, we come to the canteen Where you wash the cobwebs off your chest. That’s our motto there - ‘Honi soit qui may y pense’, And in Yorkshire that means beer is best. Eh? I’ll have a pint, Sir, and thank yer, You’ll find it good ale to sup. Well, as Guy Fawkes said when he got bunged in Dungeon And tumbled head first – "Bottoms up!" That big ‘ole outside is the moat, Sir, And they do say if ever John Bull Sells the tower for a road house with cracks puttied up – It’ll make a damn fine swimming pool. And now, Sir, we come to armoury; Here’s the tin pants of Dick Coeur de Lion. Just imagine the job that his old woman had Putting patches on with soldering iron. Here’s the shirt and the chainmail Black Prince wore... To starch and iron that were real tricky: It took three boilermakers to put on his shirt, And a blacksmith to put on his dicky. And this ‘ere’s the real 'eadsman’s block, Sir, From this many ‘eads fell with a thud – Ee!... to keep all these ‘ere stains fresh all these three hundred years We’ve used buckets and buckets of blood. ‘Ere’s the axe – that’s the genuine axe, Sir, That’s given Royal necks some ‘ard whacks. Tho’ it’s ‘ad a new ‘andle and perhaps a new head But it’s a real old original axe. And down here’s where Princes were murdered, Aye, strangled poor kids in cold blood. And what’s worse, down here I tossed Scotsman for shilling... I won, but the shilling was dud. And here’s where they tortured the prisoners... On that rack when they wouldn’t confess They were crushed till their blood ran drip, drip, drip. Feeling faint, Sir?... Well, here’s sergeant’s mess. Eh? Oh , thank you, I will have a pint, Sir, For talking’s a day’s work. Bet your life! For when I show you ducking stool they had for women By Goom, you’ll wish you’d brought the wife. And why do they call us Beefeaters? Is it ‘cos we eat beef, Sir, Nay, nay. The sergeant eats pork and the corporal eats bacon, But I eat tripe three times a day. And so you shall know we’re Beefeaters; There’s me who has fought in the wars ‘As to walk round with frills on me neck like a hambone, A daft hat and purple plus fours. But here’s why they call us Beefeaters, King Alfred, one night so they say Fell over the feet of the sentry And shouted "Oi! Keep your B– feet out of the way!"
The end