The sound of hoof beats '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 made of metal.
His horse is blacker than a vole;
his pot is blacker than his kettle.
Black Adder, Black Adder, with many a cunning plan.
Black Adder, Black Adder, you horrid little man.