Thirty two men shot, thirty two flayed men Lie by the river before being skinned The Vendean’s blood flows in the streets of Angers For the blues’s pleasure, to tanners from Pont de Cé Men’s skin to make drums out of them and kid’s skin to turn them into lampshades Men’s skin to make drums out of them and kid’s skin to turn them into lampshades They glorified women’s skin for their incredible finesse They’d rip their butts off for their happiness That bastard Robespierre, the worst of torturers, Always right in his boots, leather were his knickers Men’s skin to make drums out of them and kid’s skin to turn them into lampshades Men’s skin to make drums out of them and kid’s skin to turn them into lampshades