Post by SlothfulCat on Dec 10, 2008 23:07:00 GMT -5
**scrawled into Aria's book with a the beginings of a musical score scrawled between each line**
Gather round freinds, belly up to the bar
Bring your good humor and drinking money
Remember a few lions for the tip jar
Tongith we'll not be marching out
keeping the beer wench's livelihood from closing down
Dont mistake us for some adventurers carousing about
We're the finest of hunters who serve the Crown.
Hail barman now fetch ale and wine, all the finest things made from root and vine.
But stock well when we come to town, for there's onle one drink that the Royal Corps seeks to their sorrows drown.
Its not ale, both nutty and brown for it sends you running for the jakes after just a few rounds!
Nor is it wine, not matter how fine the fermented fruit;
tis meant more for noblemen and poncy elves in their dresses... for who ever saw Be'te'wa wear a suit?
Bring us instead our liquid bread, the finest brew that will go straight to our bellies then to our head!
Not harlots nor Purple Dragons, nay not that rancid Kara-Turan rice stuff...
Bring us isntead the product of our stout freinds, the ones whose great nation we'll see them one day mend.
Bring the stout aged by the cask in their mighty halls
Yhis first toast is to Oghrann as naught else would be right
May we that day by them fight!
When it is the black-hearted drow's turn to fall.
Bring us the drink of warriors with prowess, bring us the drink that outdoes all others...
Bring us teh drink of the fine stouts, whcih keeps their hearts strong and aids to danger sense flout!
Let the dwarven brew flow ever without bound, bring it to us and we'll dirnk it down.
Bock is our poisen of choice, double or triple tis worth any price.
For our morale is high as you see tonight, we're the Crown's best sword morning noon or night!
Just keep the mugs full with the unmatchable bock
and ever we'll march against the land's foes
Breaking their hordes like waves on impervious rock!
Yet don't forget the rarer fare, the divine dwarven sprits that will curl lesser men's hair.
We're the elite of the Dragon Armies and need the strongest when its time to weep, not rejoice and be hearty...
When its time weep for what might have been, when we pay tribute to the thousands of fine fallen men.
When we too bow head in respect for the losses
Taken both on the surface and once dwarven deep
For sorrow when last call is made by the tyrranical barkeep!
Gather round freinds, belly up to the bar
Bring your good humor and drinking money
Remember a few lions for the tip jar
Tongith we'll not be marching out
keeping the beer wench's livelihood from closing down
Dont mistake us for some adventurers carousing about
We're the finest of hunters who serve the Crown.
Hail barman now fetch ale and wine, all the finest things made from root and vine.
But stock well when we come to town, for there's onle one drink that the Royal Corps seeks to their sorrows drown.
Its not ale, both nutty and brown for it sends you running for the jakes after just a few rounds!
Nor is it wine, not matter how fine the fermented fruit;
tis meant more for noblemen and poncy elves in their dresses... for who ever saw Be'te'wa wear a suit?
Bring us instead our liquid bread, the finest brew that will go straight to our bellies then to our head!
Not harlots nor Purple Dragons, nay not that rancid Kara-Turan rice stuff...
Bring us isntead the product of our stout freinds, the ones whose great nation we'll see them one day mend.
Bring the stout aged by the cask in their mighty halls
Yhis first toast is to Oghrann as naught else would be right
May we that day by them fight!
When it is the black-hearted drow's turn to fall.
Bring us the drink of warriors with prowess, bring us the drink that outdoes all others...
Bring us teh drink of the fine stouts, whcih keeps their hearts strong and aids to danger sense flout!
Let the dwarven brew flow ever without bound, bring it to us and we'll dirnk it down.
Bock is our poisen of choice, double or triple tis worth any price.
For our morale is high as you see tonight, we're the Crown's best sword morning noon or night!
Just keep the mugs full with the unmatchable bock
and ever we'll march against the land's foes
Breaking their hordes like waves on impervious rock!
Yet don't forget the rarer fare, the divine dwarven sprits that will curl lesser men's hair.
We're the elite of the Dragon Armies and need the strongest when its time to weep, not rejoice and be hearty...
When its time weep for what might have been, when we pay tribute to the thousands of fine fallen men.
When we too bow head in respect for the losses
Taken both on the surface and once dwarven deep
For sorrow when last call is made by the tyrranical barkeep!
