Bastard King Of England

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The Bastard King Of England

The minstrels sing of an English king,
Of many long years ago.
Who ruled his land with an iron hand,
But his morals were weak and low.
His only outer garment was
A dirty yellow shirt
With which he tried to hide his hide,
But he could not hide the dirt.

He loved to hunt the royal stag
Amongst his royal wood,
But more than this, he loves the bliss,
Of pulling his royal pud.

Chorus

He was dirty, and lousy,
And full of fleas.
And he had his women
By two's and three's.
God bless the Bastard
King of England.

Now the Queen of Spain was an amorous dame,
A mischievous wench was she.
She longed to play in a loving way
With the King across the sea.
So she sent a royal message
With the royal messenger.
To invite the King to bring his ding,
And spend a week with her.

When this news, by chance, reached Phillip of France,
He swore to his royal court,
The Queen prefers me rival,
For me dork is rather short.
So he sent the Count of Zippity Zap,
To slip the Queen a dose of clap
And pass it on to
The Bastard King of England.

When the word of this foul and dastardly deed
Reached fair Windsor Hall,
The King swore by the royal whore,
He'd have that Frenchman's balls.
So he offered half his kingdom,
And a piece of Queen Hortence
To any loyal Briton who would
Nut the King of France

So the loyal Duke of Suffolkshire,
He straight away rode to France.
He made a pass, and slipped the sash,
Off Phillip's pajama pants.
And around his prong he tied a throng,
And fastened it to his saddle strong
And dragged that Frenchman
Back to merry England.

When the King of England saw the sight,
He shit all o'er the floor,
For during the ride, his rival's pride
Had stretched a yard or more.
And all the maids of England,
Come down to London town
And shouted 'round the battlements,
"Piss on the British crown"
And the King of France
Usurped the throne,
His scepter was the royal bone
With which he bitched
The Bastard King of England.


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