Raise The Crummhorns

Blinding sunshine shining high

Reflects on crummhorn, sword and lance;

Returning home, weary from battle,

To a victorious home-coming dance

The hall is full of royal dames

Rich ladies, starved and in their bloom;

We drunken, stately knights in armour,

Gesture obscenely across the room

Raise the crummhorns - raise them high!

Raise the crummhorns - until we die!

If later you venture up the stair,

You will hear the wenches start to shriek

As the knights do shed their metal skins

Letting loose their juicy luncheon meat

Squires and hand maidens also climb,

Venturing to find an empty hall

He boasts of dangers, far & wide

But she finds his sausage obscenely small.

"...And if you find yourself without a mate, do not fret,

For 'tis not too late. The pig-faced cook is always fancy free,

And a suckling pig she'll prepare for thee."

The celebrations we do often hold

When we return from the fields of war

We be stories to cherish until we are old

Debauchery - three and twenty score!