If I could win Crown, my life would be sweet.
If I could win Crown, people'd kiss my feet.
So, I'm fighting in Crown, but I'm ready to puke,
cause in the first round, I drew a Duke.
So, Hey, Your Grace, Die!
Don't block another shot.
Please don't turn me,
into a greasy spot.
Why don't you leave,
your shield in your tent?
It's not like you,
really need it.
Under your foot, a root would be cool.
That'a way I wouldn't look like a fool.
I hope you don't mind, but the rules I must bend,
on the field with me I'm bringing a friend.
Hey, Your Grace, Die!
Don't even swing your sword.
I don't know why, you do this anymore.
Never mind all,
the glue that's in your chair.
Or in your helm,
to glue it to your hair.
For God's sake you've been King since AS 1.
You've had your time, let some others have fun.
When you walk, you use your sword like a cane.
You're so old, your sword arm has vericose veins.
No disrespect, but you've walked your mile.
and your carpet armor has gone out of style.
Why must you fight, Grey beard, why won't you quit?
Son of a B!&@h! My helmet you just hit.
My helmet you just hit.
Well it's all over now, and I lost that round.
But I have one thought as I lay on the ground.
I guess I have proof that my helmet is thick.
cause I used it to break your stick.
Yes, you'll deal no more pain with that stick.
Stumble!