(Olde English Song of Praise for ye Sovereign)

Oh….the bards they sing of an English King
Who lived long years ago
He ruled his land with an iron hand
But his mind was weak and low
He would used to hunt the royal stag within the royal wood
But anon they knew that his favorite sport
Was pulling his royal Pud.

And he used to have a leather garb
Which used to hide his hide
But this undershirt could not hide the dirt
Which no one could abide
He was wild and woolly and full of fleas
Which humans ne’er could stand
And he skulked around with his balls hanging down…

The Bastard King of England!

Now the Queen of Spain was an amorous dame
Most frankly dame was she
And she longed to fool with His Majesty’s tool
So far across the Sea
So she sent a message to London Town
by Royal Messenger
Requesting the King of England come
To Spend the month with her

Now when Philip of France heard this news one day
He turned to all his Court
And he said “Isabella prefers this clown
Because my Tool is short.”
So they sent them back a most syphilous pack
To sack the Fairyland
And supply the Queen with a dose of clap…

To Hell with Dear Old England!

Now news of this at last did reach
To Windsor’s merry halls
And the King swore that he would have anon
The Frenchman’s greasy balls
So he promised half of all his lands
And the Whole of Queen Hortense
To that doughty knight who would have the might
To nut the King of France

So the Royal Duke of Echester
Betook himself to France
And swearing himself a Fruit for the King
Took down his Royal pants
Then he tied a thong around his prong
And Gaily galloped along
‘Til at last at Windsor’s merry halls
Was a Frenchman and his schlong

And the King threw up and he shit his pants
For in the lengthy ride
The Thong had stretched by a yard or more
The fucking Frenchman’s Pride
And all the ladies of London Town
Who saw the mighty Stand
Cried aloud, “To Hell with the English Crown!”

…

And made Philip King of England!