The sound of hoofbeats cross the glade,
Good folk, lock up your son and daughter,
Beware the deadly flashing blade,
Unless, you want to end up shorter,
Black Adder!
Black Adder!
He rides a pitch-black steed,
Black Adder!
Black Adder!
He's very bad indeed,
Black, his gloves of finest mole,
Black, his codpiece is made of metal,
His horse is blacker than his vole,
His pot is backer than his kettle,
Black Adder!
Black Adder!
With many a cunning plan,
Black Adder!
Black Adder!
You horrid little man!
