they are marching down on high street

down in old wapping docks

near the banks and the rocks

where the gibbets use to sing across the thames

every now and every then with a silver oar with them

the marshals come to visit our block

if you cannot pay your rent

off to prison you'll be sent

where the gaolers entertain you in the stone hall

like the tattooed one armed creature

they call the newgate preacher

for his tales of liberty he must repent

hear the royal drums beat and the marching of their feet

a procession is coming down on high street

and bound to depart they have shackled to their cart

the poor lad who is heading for the docks

but for my own felony

there will be no clemency

as a gentleman of fortune i did serve

now i'm rolling out of jail

and my final quart of ale

has been paid for by the marshall deputy

hear the royal drums beat and the marching of their feet

a procession is coming down on high street

and bound to depart they have shackled to their cart

the poor lad who is heading for the docks

for this morbid dalliance

in hope to catch a glance

my audience has come to see my dance

like the withered william kidd

who i'll now be hanging with

as the cart towards the docks has well advanced

i can see my house from here. see

i grew up over there

and i'm still a wapping boy

to this i swear

as the chaplain reads his prayers

i climb the wooden stairs

and my true love stands there staring at the snare

hear the royal drums beat and the marching of their feet

a procession is coming down on high street

and bound to depart they have shackled to their cart

the poor lad who is heading for the docks

oh close your eyes walk away now my love

don't be here when the tide leaves in the morning

and i'll see you at the heavenly gates

where my face will be as handsome as today

hear the royal drums beat and the marching of their feet

a procession is coming down on high street

and bound to depart they have shackled to their cart

the poor lad who is heading for the docks