evil jester by *earache-J on deviantART
Words and music by:
The Black Bard of Meridies
mka Stephen R. Melvin
A long time ago, in a land most far away,
There stood a peaceful village which might still be there today,
This Town had a bane, The Jester was his name,
He had a band of men and terror was his reign.
No one could ever equal him at throwing words or puns
He terrorized their village, raped their daughters killed their sons,
He stole their crops and burned their homes and none could shed a tear,
For the jester made them smile while his company made them fear.
O the grown men would run and the children would hide,
The women would faint to the ground,
He had bells on his shoes, a baton at his side,
And they feared when the jester came to town.
With his eyes shining dark, the jester made his mark,
He'd a face white as death all around,
He'd a wit sharp as knives and they'd run for their lives,
For they feared when the jester came to town.
One day there came into the town a man with a sash of black.
He had a song in his voice and a harp on his back,
A traveled man from far away his road was long and hard,
But he'd stood it well though he'd been through hell,
And he called himself the bard.
The Bard performed a juggling show, Those balls he made them whirl,
'Til the jester interrupted by insulting a young girl.
The bard he made a snide remark, and thus he sealed his doom.
For the jester said, "You'll face me in a punfight at high noon!"
Next morning bright and early, the bard was nowhere found,
The town was quiet as a church, no one dared make a sound.
The jester rode into the town, no one dared even think,
He stopped into the tavern, and he got himself a drink.
At noon the jester stepped outside, the sun was shining bright,
The jester said, "I knew he'd run, this town is mine tonight!"
My noon it seems is higher than yours, rang out in a voice so clear,
So the jester stopped and turned around, and he then began to fear.
The bard jumped lightly to the ground, the subject had been set.
So the jester steeled his voice, and he said, "A bet's a bet.
I have a sage to visit about your comment on the thyme"
The bard replied, "Let's spice things up." In a wicked sounding rhyme.
The jester shot back quickly, "Are those cloven hooves you wear?"
Why no, but if you're interested, there's a sheep right over there.
The bard thus scored the first real blow, and he thought he might have won.
But the jester said, "I wooldn't" and the pun fight had begun.
From sheep the subject went to war and continued towards the night.
From knights came swords and armor, in a truly glorious fight.
Fighting went back into war, they wore out subjects, true.
But truth itself it was no match, for the vice they had to screw.
The bard nailed that one on the head, and this the jester saw.
It's hard to ware a subject when your throat is hoarse and raw.
But the mane pun of the evening, from the tale up to the head,
Was a triple pun and when 'twas done, The jester lay there dead.
So the punfight had been won, and the town owed their lives,
To a skill with words unmatched, for which every true bard strives,
So the bard finished up his show and he sang well into night,
For the people of that town threw a feast as was his right.
Next morning the bard rode away, and the people said goodbye,
And the lass who'd been insulted asked with a tear in her eye,
"Have you any words to leave with us before you go milord?"
Remember lass, the pun is truly mightier than the sword!"