| The toll was closed,
|
| South of the town.
|
| My kinsmen were barred,
|
| Even though I wore a crown.
|
| When I asked for a reason,
|
| We were told to be submit.
|
| T’was on the order of the hop,
|
| Of Cicestransis.
|
| Extremely vexed were we,
|
| At this outrages affront.
|
| It crossed my mind the hop,
|
| Was probably a cunt.
|
| We rallied our men from pillaging,
|
| And plowing up the farms.
|
| Blast the trumpets loudly,
|
| A call to their arms
|
| Bash the hop,
|
| In his head.
|
| Bash, bash,
|
| Until he’s dead
|
| We stormed to the cathedral,
|
| but he was not to be found.
|
| A nun we spared the truncheon,
|
| claimed he’d gone to ground.
|
| The earthly smell around us,
|
| confirmed these words as true.
|
| I swore I’d throttle his little neck,
|
| until his mitre be blue
|
| We chased him to his cloisters,
|
| where we found the host had fled,
|
| leaving sixteen strappled strumpets,
|
| weeping in his bed.
|
| The choir boy complained,
|
| about the «Pagan things"he'd done.
|
| We chased into the night,
|
| to finish what we’d begun
|
| Bash the hop,
|
| in his head.
|
| Bash, bash,
|
| until he’s dead
|
| Bash!
|
| Smash!
|
| Crash!
|
| Dash!
|
| Bash!
|
| Smash!
|
| Crash!
|
| Saddle up!
|
| We finally caught the miscreant,
|
| by following the stench.
|
| He’d been living north of Saddlescoombe,
|
| which a rather buxom wench.
|
| We pled for him,
|
| to take his punishment like a man,
|
| but instead he fled to Fulhingm
|
| sulken tears into his hand
|
| Bash bash bash!
|
| Bash bash bash!
|
| Until he’s dead |