The Further Adventures...

Though the bogs of St Edmund, beyond the gaseous wastes Lives a hero amongst men, one of expensive tastes He dines solely on beans and rich salted prunes He holds magic powers to which none are immune He's the King's secret weapon and his jester to boot. He has his own castle and vaults full of loot. The French make no plans to invade this fair isle For fear they meet Roland they quake rank and file Roland the Farter, we're depending on you! Roland the Farter: please don't follow through! Brewed in his bowels is a stench none can stand For 10,000 hectares, it kills beast and man Chemical warrior, flatulist supreme Dark-age Mass-destruction from the brown jet-stream Aiming his arse as their army draws near He pumps out a strong one that's soft on the ear But sounds are deceiving, they do not see their doom As, one by one, they march into the plume. "Unum saltum et siffletum et unum bumbulum" (one jump, one whistle, and one fart) Roland's the hero, always the one to win So don't be afraid, it's better out than in Don't worry 'bout the farting, be proud of your trumps But don't strain too hard; Avoid pants full of lumps!

Submitted by Lake of Tears — Apr 26, 2025

Warrior Monks! Whitehawk! Warrior Monks! The warrior monks are on their way No absolution, they're gonna make you pay Cos you've been bad and you'd better beware If you're living sin, you'd better say your prayers They'll take your teeth out with a crucifix Remove your balls and fill your sack with bricks So stop your talking and finish your beer There's no escaping, they're already here! The Warrior Monks of Whitehawk Permitted to kill, but not allowed to talk A vow of silence and killing for the Lord All naughty boys and girls die by the sword The executors of Cardinal Sin Drink their Bucky and then begin Free from the cloisters ordained to kill The removal of limbs is their holy skill Rome has decreed you shall be slain For mead and wenches are on your brain There's no way out, you will succumb To red hot pokers up the bum "Brethren - we are gathered here today to take our holy vows of violence. To venture beyond the borders of darkest Whitehawk, and to prosletyse the unwashed masses of Brighthelmstone & Hova. For they live by the ways of the Devil and his minions, and must be purged of this ungodly heresy, if needs be by tortuous death." "To war! God wills it!" They return to the abbey with their severed heads Say their prayers, climb into bed They dream of when they'll again be free To preach the word of god on a killing spree

Submitted by johnmansley — Apr 26, 2025

Mead can do many things it can even make you blind And the tavern wenches round these parts drive me out of my mind There's on such girl of whom I know who's been around the block For fifteen duckets and a bucket of milk she'll even roost your cock. She's for hire, baby Doff your cap and quaff your wine For the Bitch of Chiselhurst Caves is mine War your sons and tell your chums: She's the Bitch of Chiselhurst Caves If you take her home to stroke your bone and caress your mighty helm She'll tie you to the bed & ride you 'til you're dead, she's the finest in the realm When you're worn right through and your balls are blue and your dreams full of delight Don't be surprised if she takes all your gold and vanishes in the night "She wants my sausage" (But she'd better hurry up 'cos there's only one going) So hide your stash and bank your cash, be wise and mark these words: You'll have your way but you'll have to pay, for the best-laid supper can turn to turds

Submitted by Warbringer — Apr 26, 2025

Blinding sunshine shining high Reflects on crummhorn, sword and lance; Returning home, weary from battle, To a victorious home-coming dance. The hall is full of royal dames Rich ladies, starved and in their bloom; We drunken, stately knights in armour, Gesture obscenely across the room Raise the crummhorns - Raise them high! Raise the crummhorns - Until we die! If later you venture up the stair, You will hear the wenches start to shriek As the knights do shed their metal skins Letting loose their juicy luncheon meat. Squires and hand maidens also climb, Venturing to find an empty hall He boasts of dangers, far & wide But she finds his sausage obscenely small. "...and if you find yourself without a mate, do not fret, for 'tis not too late. The pig-faced cook is always fancy free, and a suckling pig she'll prepare for thee." The celebrations we do often hold When we return from the fields of war We be stories to cherish until we are old Debauchery - three and twenty score!

Submitted by MetalElf — Apr 26, 2025

To many she's just a malignant bitch But the truth is she's an evil witch. She boils up spells in her gingerdread house And in her hair there lives a mouse! Her smell, when near, offends the nose, For she has not time to wash her clothes, Black cats 'n goblins are friends and kin They boil the bones of the slain within. Beware the Wailing Witch of Moulsecoombe! Her spells invoke your doom (she's coming to get you) Beware the Wailing Witch of Moulsecoombe! If you're a sinner, she'll eat you for dinner! A cretinous oaf's her captive mate Their offspring share their woeful fate The Scum-flecked walls, and haunted halls, lying beyond the foreboding gate Her own reflection is the best attack Her ugly mush doth push her back. But there is a way to escape her wrath: By following the knightly chivalrous path. "Witch of Moulsecoombe - the boiler of seas, she beats the fearless warriors to their knees. Raising an army of skull-headed duds, the earth shakes with thunderous buttock-thuds. So rally the horses and assemble the men. We will ride out to meet this fat hen; blow her away with the mace of doom, and send her fat ass spinning to the moon! (or thereabouts...)" Beware the wailing Witch of Moulsecoombe! Your reign is ending soon, we're coming to get you! The wailing Witch of Moulsecoombe! Her reign is ending soon, we're coming to get her! But if you're a sinner, she'll eat you for dinner... Yes!

Submitted by Lake of Tears — Apr 26, 2025

Gweneth, my love it over-flows and spillith Come ride my steed into the night, do not be frightened, for I am enlightened (at least, enough to see the way!) Onwards - into the concert (faces painted) By blasting drums we are elated and the howls, and anti-Christian growls enough to shake your bowels! Oh oh oh o-oh she's a Black Metal Beauty! Oh oh oh o-oh she's got me feeling fruity! Oh oh oh o-oh touch that Black Metal booty! Oh oh oh o-oh 'tis my Black Metal duty! Bedsit, this hovel is not very well lit just enough to see the shadow of her breast Inverted cross on chest, my sword completes the quest. Plumpish, this wenches bitches smell of codfish I'll not return another day, but now I'll have my way. ...Well - if you think you can find something more appetizing in a bloody band t-shirt, good luck to you! "...If the truth be told, this wench is but a beast as if cast from the very bowels of hell itself. For even great Lucifer could not stand the sight of this grotesque evil dwarf in a mini-skirt!..." Escaping, in early morn fore she is waking I cannot stand the shame of being seen leaving this goblin queen Could fault be too much ale? Homebound, onto the castle and to safe ground And please my men be on your guard in case she comes She's just one of those ones you wish you hadn't shagged Sham-ed - all is lost and nothing gain-ed What have I done, but shame my clan I'm less than a man T'was not a cunning plan Nooooo!

Submitted by SerpentEve — Apr 26, 2025

A holy man, with a whispering castrato A wrinkled face, like a sun-dried tomato He farms the hills of Brighthelmstone Boring all with persistent drone In his holy red-striped shawl, he tends to his sacred vegetables. He warns us we must live another way Declares to all he can save the day Haha this-a-way, haha that-a-way haha this-a-way, my oh my Please refrain, you tire me so You know nothing that is worth to know The sky isn't falling, you're just very boring You're Dex the Whispering Dwarf Dex! Dex! You're Dex the Whispering Dwarf Drink your tea and shut your mouth Most boring man in all the south Just smoke your buds and dig your spuds You're Dex the Whispering Dwarf Who can save us from this yawn? Most tedious person ever born? We should call Roland, he'll know what to do he'll save the day with a special brew. Shut your mouth, you bore me so You know nothing that is worth to know The sky isn't falling, you're just very boring You're Dex the Whispering Dwarf "Roland, we beseech thee: come save us from this terrible dwarf!"

Submitted by NecroGod — Nov 11, 2025

No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.

"In 1314, an order of troubadour knights were sent to Merlan by a military court for a crime they didn't commit. These men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the UK Metal underground. Today, still wanted by the Pope, they survive as minstrels of fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them - maybe you can hire: Jaldaboath" Fresh out of Merlan, the Oubliette of darkness Jaldaboath - the Templars of Doom Minstrels of fortune ride into the sunset, Ready for hire - reputations exhumed Riding roughshod through the turnpikes and toll booths Highway men scarper when they hear the thundering hooves Dick Turnip's men are nowt but rapscallions Money or your life' - I'll give it to your wife Riding forth like in a dream We'll solve all your ills or change your regime To call Jaldaboath, just give a scream There's none more extreme (duh duh duh) Midsummer knight's Wet Dream (dun d-duh duuuh) Maybe you can hire the "J" team! Coming to save your castle from a sieging Stop on the way to do a bit of wenching Unsheathe the sword to do a bit of thrusting Bleeding the plebs (whatever that means...) Riding on horse-back screaming like wild beasts, Jaldaboath slay their foes from west to east. Bones they are a'crunching 'neath the mace of doom Skulls they are smashed - we're gonna get you all! We're coming to save you (if you have the cash) Always lay waste to and turn your foes to ash

Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Nov 11, 2025