The minstrels sing of a Bastard King
of many long years ago
Who ruled his land with an iron hand,
Though his mind was creak and low,
His only outer garment
was a dirty yellow shirt
With which he tried to hide his hide,
But he couldn't hide the dirt.
Chorus: He was forty, fat and full of Fleas,
His sceptre sat between his knees,
God bless the Bastard
King of England.
Now the Queen of Spain was an amorous dame,
And a sprightly wench was she
And longed to play in a sexual way
With the King across the sea.
So she sent a secret message
With a secret messenger
To ask the King if he would string
Along to sleep with her.
Now Ol' Philip of France
he heard by chance
Within his royal court,
And he swore, "By God, she loves this slob
Because I'm rather short,"
So he sent the Duke of Suffering Sap
To give to the Queen a dose of clap
To pass it on to the
Bastard King of England.
When news of the foul deed was heard
Within fair London's walls
The King he swore by the Royal Whore
He'd have King Philip's life.
He offered half the royal purse
And a piece of Princess Claire
To any British subject
Who'd undo Philip the Fair.
The Duke of Northumberland
saddled his horse
And galloped off to France,
He swore he was a fairy,
The King let drop his pants,
Then in front of a throng
he slipped on a thong
Leaped on his horse and galloped along
Dragging the Frenchman back to Merrie Old England.
When the King of England saw the sight
He fell in a faint on the floor,
For during the ride his rival's hide
Was stretched a yard or more,
And all the whores in silken drawers
Came down to London town,
And shouted round the battlements,
"To Hell with the British Crown."
And Philip alone usurped the throne
His sceptre was his royal bone,
With which he ditched,
The Bastard King of England