The Bastard King of England

Oh, the minstrels sing of an English King,

Who lived long years ago,

Who ruled his land with an iron hand,

But his mind was weak and low.

He used to hunt the royal stag, within the royal wood,

But better than this he loved the bliss of pulling his royal pud.

He was dirty and lousy and covered in fleas,

His terrible tool hung down to his knees,

God save the bastard King of England.

The Queen of Spain was an amorous dame,

And a silly old witch was she,

For she longed to fool with his majesty’s tool,

So far across the sea.

So she sent a royal message, with a royal messenger,

Inviting the king to bring his ding, and spend the week with her.

When news of this reached Philip of France ,

He swore before his court,

“The Queen prefers my rival because my dork is short.”

So he sent the Duke of Zippety-Zap,

To slip the Queen a dose of clap,

To pass it on to the bastard King of England.

When news of this foul dastardly deed,

Reached fair Windsor Hall,

The king swore by the royal whore,

He’d have the Frenchman’s balls.

So he offered half his kingdom,

And the contents of the Queen’s pants,

To any loyal subject who would nut the king of France.

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So the noble Duke of Middlesex,

He took himself to France,

He swore he was a fairy, so the king took down his pants.

On Philip’s dong he tied a thong,

Leaped on his horse and galloped along,

Dragging the Frenchman back to merry England.

Now the king threw up his breakfast, and shat all over the floor,

For during the ride, the Frenchman’s pride

Has stretched a yard or more.

And all the whores in their silken drawers,

Came down to London town,

And shouted around the battlements, “To hell with the British crown !”

Rule Britannia, marmalade and jam, five Chinese crackers up yer arsehole

Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, BANG.