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In the Rue des Blancs-ManteauxThey raised a wooden stageThrew some bran in a basketAnd there was the scaffoldIn the Rue des Blancs-ManteauxIn the Rue des Blancs-ManteauxThe executioner rose at dawnHe had a job to doHe must chop the generals, bishops and admirals tooIn the Rue des Blancs-ManteauxInto the Rue des Blancs-ManteauxCame the well-bred womenWith their precious jewelsBut the heads they turned themRolling from on highHeads stuck in their hatsIn the gutter of the Blancs-Manteaux
In the Rue des Blancs-ManteauxThey raised a wooden stageThrew some bran in a basketAnd there was the scaffoldIn the Rue des Blancs-ManteauxIn the Rue des Blancs-ManteauxThe executioner rose at dawnHe had a job to doHe must chop the generals, bishops and admirals tooIn the Rue des Blancs-ManteauxInto the Rue des Blancs-ManteauxCame the well-bred womenWith their precious jewelsBut the heads they turned themRolling from on highHeads stuck in their hatsIn the gutter of the Blancs-Manteaux