Who ever saw an odder druid
Than that one over there:
With his body all puffed up with fluid
And his tousled hair?
But should you cross him, I'd beware
His mistletoe is potent, Yeah!
If his spells don't work, he'll bash your head in
And build you a coffin to be dead in,
But then he'll be off to chat to an oak
'Cos he's really a simple woodsman bloke:
He doesn't like to think too hard,
He'd rather play with spells and dream
Oh, what in the world made this foolish bard
Team up with such a team?
And once you've seen our faithful wizard,
Then there's much worse to come:
Is it human or is it lizard? -
I pity his poor mum.
His schizophrenias quite a thrill
He'll blat a fly for you at will,
If you want to stab him or garrot him
You'll find it somewhat hard to spot him
For he's adept at quickly blending
Into backgrounds, and then sending
Spells that turn you into mud -
But ugh! his complexion is obscene!
So what in the world made this foolish bard
Team up with such a team?
We'd be a namby-pamby bunch
If not for Helga's charms
Your eyes will pop, your bones will crunch
If she hugs you with those arms.
So there are often problems when
Helga gets in with the men:
She only wants to get their rocks off
But they're afraid she'll knock their blocks off.
In terms of brains she's rather lacking -
She's quite contented just with whacking
Monsters, 'til they look like lard.
For Helga's slow, but cripes! shes mean!
Oh what in the world made this foolish bard
Team up with such a team?
Pride of place in this motley lot
Goes to Raby bold.
He's a hairy highland Scot
With bollocks very cold,
For he wears naught beneath his kilt,
And he is rather lowly built,
So this backstabber might well come
Behind and stab you in the bum!
If you're feeling low and grumbling,
Hell entertain you with his tumbling:
He's known for landing rather hard.
But his molotov cocktails are a dream!
Oh, what in the world made this foolish bard
Team up with such a team?
If you think you've seen it all
You're in for quite a shock,
For our Slab has quite a ball
Impersonating rock.
Yes, it's rather widely known
That his body's hard as stone:
So should you wish to go Slab-hunting
Beware! You'll find your weapons blunting!
We recommend - if he should say,
"Slab make door" - you run away.
For breakfast he likes something hard
Like iron ore, or stones (no cream)
Oh what in the world made this foolish bard
Team up with such a team?
Perhaps by now you're wondering
If you can trust your eyes:
Our Wallis is a frail thing
Who comes in gnomish guise.
He's bound to give your brain a twist,
This specialised illusionist:
What forsooth, will it be today -
Burning hands, or colour spray?
Although he thinks my songs are crap
Our Wallace is a useful chap
And a dangerous type to disregard
For nothing is quite as it seems!
Oh what in the world made this foolish bard
Team up with such a team?
© Giles Watson 1997
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