Horrible Histories - Joan Of Arc

Ok, pamplemousse, baguette and brie
Are you ready?

I'm Joan Of Arc from Domremy, religious visions came ter me
GOd said 'Save France from the English' and make Dauphin Charles, king
Dauphin means heir to the throne, but England claimed the crown as their own

We had a hundred years of war
This girl had to do something
So I did it like a dude, cut my hair
Gave up wearing dresses, bought a pair
Of trousers, no blouses
Said I wanna fight Angleterre

Charles let me join the army, army, army
Know that might sound barmy, barmy, barmy
I proved impressive
Hit by an arrow a-a-and lived

English troops I over ranny, ranny, ranny
Defeated them at Patay, Patay, Patay
We saved Orle-eans and Charles was crowned tres bon

Me leading troops- a long shot
But I was a lucky mascot
Inspired soldiers with brav-er-y
Fought injured and sur-vived

But in 1430, Burgundians captured me
King Charles couldn't pay my ransom
No-one told me, why

Being prisoner was not my style, tried escaping from my capture's vile
But then the English who fought me, bought me! Made me stand, trial

So where was King Charlie, Charlie, Charlie?
He'd given up and left me, left me, left me
In the Engli-ish snare
Whole thing so un-fair

They put me in a uh- hu? N-nunnery
They said don't be uh-hu? F-funnery
If you dress like a-a male
We'll put you in men's jail

Joan of Arc? You're charged with sorcery
You're just jealous cos God speaks ter me
Say you speak to saints? In this discourse? What language do they speak?
French o'course
Pah! Now you're in prison, they have failed yer
I say it's God's plan that you're my jailer
Here's a trick question in that case
Do you think you're in God's grace?

If I am not, may God put me there, and if I am, may God so keep me

Oh your smart remarks go round the houses
You're guilty of heresy( and wearing men's trousers)

Despite my testimony, mony, mony
Condemned for reasons phony, phony, phony
But my will did no-ot break
So they tied me to a-a stake

Burned alive was my destiny, tiny, tiny
And here is the irony, rony, rony
My death led France to put on war paint
And crush the English so now, I'm a saint