It was Yanky the Squire as I've heard them tell He went out a-hunting all on one fine day He went out a-hunting but nothing he found But a poor murdered woman laid on the cold ground About eight o'clock, boys, our dogs they throwed off And off to the Common and that was the spot They tried all the bushes but nothing they found But a poor murdered woman laid on the cold ground They whipped their dogs off and they kept them away For I do think it is proper that she should have fair play They tried all the bushes but nothing they found But a poor murdered woman laid on the cold ground They mounted their horses and they rode off the ground They rode to the village and alarmed it all around "It is late in the evening, I am sorry to say She cannot be removed until the next day." The next Sunday morning about eight o'clock Some hundreds of people to the spot they did flock For to see that poor creature it would make your hearts bleed Some cold-hearted violence came into their heads She was took off the Common and down to some inn And the man that has kept it his name is John Sims The Coroner was sent for and the jury they joined And soon they concluded and they settled their mind A coffin was brought and in it she was laid And took to the churchyard in fair Leatherhead No father, no mother, nor no friend at all Came to see the poor creature put under the mould