Oh I'll sing ye a tale from the Pass of the Vale,
Where gold flows like mead and the strong take their sail,
Where the gentry rode rich but rode lighter back down,
For the Scarlet Hood robbed ‘em of purse and renown.
So laugh for your kings, and piss on their claims,
A crown’s but a thief’s hat dressed up in fine names,
He rode with a dagger and now reigns with a frown,
But a rogue's still a rogue, though you call him a crown.
They say there’s a blade with a river’s own might,
That dances on water and sings in a fight,
But if rivers could speak, they'd tell where it lay,
At the bottom 'til some knave fished it up from the spray.
So laugh for your kings, and piss on their claims,
A crown’s but a thief’s hat dressed up in fine names,
He rode with a dagger and now reigns with a frown,
But a rogue's still a rogue, though you call him a crown.
The lords swap their seats like a whore swaps her sheets,
With Waldon and Fieldstone fattening their eats,
And when the coin dried and the parchments grew cold,
Why up pops a Hood with a crown bought or sold!
So laugh for your kings, and piss on their claims,
A crown’s but a thief’s hat dressed up in fine names,
He rode with a dagger and now reigns with a frown,
But a rogue's still a rogue, though you call him a crown.
The Hood changed for velvet, his blade for a throne,
But the roads whisper truths that the court’s never known,
That in Oromir’s pass ‘neath the storm’s crying call,
It weren’t nobles who ruled—just a brigand in thrall.
So laugh for your kings, and piss on their claims,
A crown’s but a thief’s hat dressed up in fine names,
He rode with a dagger and now reigns with a frown,
But a rogue's still a rogue, though you call him a crown.
So drink for your kings, we’ll toast them with spite,
For the Hood wears a circlet and robs us at night,
In Wanderhalt’s halls or Peakshadow’s bright crown,
It’s still the same Hood, just dressed up in gown.
So laugh for your kings, and piss on their claims,
A crown’s but a thief’s hat dressed up in fine names,
He rode with a dagger and now reigns with a frown,
But a rogue's still a rogue, though you call him a crown.
So here's to the crown forged in theft and in lies,
To the river that laughed while the true heir dies,
We'll dance and we’ll drink but we’ll never bow down,
For a king born a thief is still king of the clowns!
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