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