When you're waltzing down the High Street
singing that sweet French perfume song
looking out for the boys who couldn't sing along.
Moving like a dancer on the ballroom floor,
sweet ballerina get me begging for more
when you're rolling your eyes behind your Dior shades.

      Bloody Mary, the queen of the ball;
      Bloody Mary, you want it all.
      I've been looking for you, looking for me.

I like sugar in my woman more than saccharine,
too much sweet talk make a nice boy mean.
All in all, Mary, you're no good for me.
Just like a bee-sting, babe, you're a pain in my heart
hurting me more and more.
You get me down on my knees when you talk dirty to me.

      Bloody Mary, the queen of the ball;
      Bloody Mary, you want it all.
      I've been looking for you.
      Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary,
      Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.

   You know that Madame Palm and her five sweet daughters
   couldn't give a man what the doctor ordered.
   Ooh, Mary, I love the way you turn it on.

      Bloody Mary, the queen of the ball;
      Bloody Mary, you want it all.
      I've been looking for you.
      Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary,
      Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.

   You know that Madame Palm and her five sweet daughters
   couldn't give a man what the doctor ordered.
   Ooh, Mary, I love the way you turn it on.
   I told, ooh, Mary, I love the way you turn it on.

           - David Coverdale