When the Normans came to our quiet shire,
our lands became their own.
On crusade – King Richard we admire,
but Prince John is on the throne.
Prince John asks of yet more tax each day,
and each day a new fine.
We toil so hard that we might pay;
He sleeps and drinks and dines.
So Robin, take your arrows and bow,
your courage and strength also.
So, fly on the breeze and land in the trees.
It’s time that you must go.
In contests, you shoot at 300 paces,
with such a lofty arc.
Oh! If you could see the crowd, their faces
drop when you hit your mark.
You take treasures from the rich who hoard,
to give them to the poor.
This angered the lords, so what’s your reward?
They made you an outlaw.
So Robin, take your arrows and bow,
your courage and strength also.
So, fly on the breeze and land in the trees.
It’s time that you must go.
The Sheriff, he sets up traps to snare,
but none has ever hurt you.
The people say you’re kind and fair.
Your shield is your virtue.
But following you is violence,
where-ever you may roam.
With death don’t dance, don’t take a chance.
Be sure that you come home.
(To the tune of “Song of the Staffordshire Men”)