W 30 Wombat's Reign
Brom Blackhand (Calontir)
The feast done, the evening is falling,
And the air it is charged with fear,
The BOD is sleeping, the Curia weeping,
O God please save poor old An Tir.
And the populace is in a ruckus,
And many of them have fled,
And we're all crying he's gonna fuck us,
When they put that damn crown on his head.
To me way hey, oh you'll rue the day,
A barbaric bastard like me,
Did show up to fight here, where might still makes right,
Oh just stick around and you'll see.
To me way hey, I'll go all the way,
In plundering poor old An Tir,
You've pissed me off royal and made my blood boil,
Now you'll see just what I hold dear.
First I'll plunder your treasury's money,
Yes, that money you've worked for so hard,
And I'll blow it away, on my new defence budget,
In other words, swords for my guard.
And I think rattan is for pussies,
So from now on we'll only use steel,
And to keep every fight, from lasting an hour,
I'm also outlawing the shield.
And the feasting will be done at Shakey's,
Till the manager's countenance sours,
And I'll hold drunken court, in the Gucci encampment,
And make sure it goes on for hours.
To our fighters give rubberband crossbows,
To our poets give crackerjack rings,
But I'll give Bob McFlandry a Pelican,
Cause I like the way the man sings.
I'll write letters to various kingdoms,
Call the Kings perverts and the Queens whores.
There's a ten dollar site fee this year, boys,
Guess who owns the site for the war.
I'll get byes every round in the tourneys,
As I sit on the sides and swill beer,
And make book on the odds of that novice,
The dumb fuck who borrowed my gear.
And when my reign is finally over,
And the time comes for me to step down,
Well, your next sucker won't look so regal,
Since I've gone and pawned off your crown.
I've stepped off six thousand bucks richer,
Though it's cost me a couple of friends,
But they say if I'm good, in another six months,
I can come back and do it again.
Performer(s) Thorvald Grimsson