Words: Chidiock the Younger
Music:
Source:
Hasten, o land-steed, over the concrete,
Fire-souled beast from the mills of Detroit,
For William has called us to gather at Pennsic,
The steel-clad fighters and archers adroit.
We'll take our pay there in sweeter than money,
We'll take our plunder in what we can hold,
For William has promised us beer for the fighting,
Beer for the men of the Falcon, and cold!
Hasten, O Fyrdmen, southward to Grimfells,
Again Interkingdom Event has come round,
Your sticks of rattan and your rolls of grey duct tape
Are needed again, let the clatter resound.
Draw from the beer keg, o foamy companions,
Later whenever our story is told,
They'll say that we fell in a heap by the spigot,
Drinking the lager before it got cold.
Hasten, O Huscarls, west to Estrella,
The sand and the sage wait the sound of our swords,
For Atenveldt's belted now number a thousand,
At close of day's fighting a thirst-maddened horde.
Set up the scutum around all the beer kegs,
Fend off the others though thirst makes them bold,
We'll grant them what's left when the King's drunk us under,
The dregs and the foam from the beer that we hold.
Make haste, men of Calon, to War of the Lilies,
Since this is our war for the beer we must pay.
The bold mercenaries with jaws all aslaver,
Line up with their mugs at the close of the day.
Draw off the suds from the cheapest brand purchased,
They don't know the difference if we keep it cold.
We'll hide all the good stuff and save it for later,
Beer for the men of the Falcon, and cold!