Farquhar Sticky Bumhair-Smythe came riding 'cross the glen,
His trusty sword held up aloft, behind him fifty men.
Between his legs his frisky beast did prance about and whinney,
And writhe like several rhino who are trapped inside a Mini.
Ahead the castle's flag flew high,
The King was on his throne,
The royal dump was underway,
How could the king have known?
That as he sat and forced one out,
Farquhar's men grew closer,
The King, oblivious, groaned and pushed,
And regretted that samosa.
Farquhar Sticky Bumhair-Symthe approached the great port cullis.
The wind was raw and he was glad he'd worn his winter woolies.
He woahed his steed and with a smile turned to address his troops.
He looked as happy as a boy with a cornet and three scoops.
"My faithful men, my warriors bold,
My loyal travelling band
All praise to God on this fine day,
the fairest in the land.
For on this morn a heinous wrong
Will once be put to right
We'll retake the Royal Clagnuts
Whilst yon fraudster takes his shite."
Alas His Highness Great King George was unprepared for this.
His royal pants were round his knees and his shoes were wet with piss.
He sat there as the knights drew near while reading this month's 'Razzle',
So blissfully unaware was he as outside the shining armour dazzled.
Out the window stared his men,
Horrified at the sight.
But the king was still oblivious
To his likely plight
For all the king's men whatever their rank
Had learnt from bitter memories
Not to interrupt him while he's having a wank.
And suddenly from nowhere he did hear a fearsome sound,
He dropped his filthy wank mag and began to look around,
To see from whence it came and so decide what he should do,
To grab his sword for battle or to carry on his poo?
He opened up the window and looked out into the night,
To see what had disturbed his wank and, more's the point, his shite,
But as he spied our Farquhar, who rode fast across the moor,
His long awaited log fell out and rolled across the floor.
"My liege, I smell," the turd proclaimed, "the fetid stench of danger.
Without these walls there stands a foe who to us is no stranger.
Within the castle vaults you store (by sacred royal decree)
The holy dangleberries of King Clag of Bidawee."
"By Jove! You're right!" the king announced, "my faithful stinky one.
It is my brother Farquhar, back to claim what I had won.
With all my strength, these castle walls and everyone within it,
Must fight as one unto the death! We must protect those winnits!"
So the king bent down, pulled up his pants and prepared to go to war.
He summoned all his strongest knights and, even though his arse was sore,
He mounted his big black stallion and grabbed his trusty blade.
"Farquhar is a fiend" cried he, "But I am not afraid!
We'll fight for justice here and now, for all that's good and right!
I'll never lose those dangleberries, I will not lose this fight!"
So they lowered down the drawbridge, and with their heads held high
They charged at Evil Farquhar and raised their battle cry.
Farquhar wobbled on his horse, began to feel quite funny,
"I didn't mean it!" he did sob, "I'm scared! I want my mummy!"
The King's great army stopped, aghast, and watched poor Farquhar's tears,
"The truth is, guys," he sniffed and sobbed, "I haven't fought in years:
An evil wizard captured me and told me to come here,
And try to take your dangleberries - Oh! The dreaded fear!
So please sir, will you let me go? I'm just a lowly peasant!
I'm not a dangerous villain, no! In fact, I'm rather pleasant."
"Ho, ho, my brother, how you jest," the king did roar with laughter.
"You fool me not with your charade. I know just what you're after.
Those precious bits of dried up poo that once hung on Clag's bum beard
Are not the evil Plops Of Doom our dear departed mum feared.
Instead they form a talisman, a sacred, charmed protector.
They keep the kingdom free from piles and income tax inspectors.
But you must vow to flee this land and leave me well alone
If I give you one last chance, at scissors, paper, stone..."
The good king was quite confident, he'd beat Farquhar before.
They hid their hands behind their backs and then prepared to draw.
One, two, three they counted, Farquhar had Scissors but the King had Stone!
Gleefully the king did cry "Perhaps now brother you'll leave me alone!"
But Farquhar was a nasty bastard, he was a bad, BAD man,
Although he agreed to surrender he had another plan.
He fell to his knees and said to King George "I am a dirty rascal,
You better capture me here and now and lock me up in your castle.
Well the King was quite surprised because he knew Farquhar was hard,
He'd never won in battle, but he was no tub of lard,
He never just surrendered! It just wasn't his thing!
"So what is going on here then?" enquired the puzzled King.
"My physique is impressive, I can tell that's what you think,
But underneath this armour I am in a suit of pink.
Yes I am just a gay man, and I'm fit but you are fitter,
Now take me to your castle, please, and take me up the shitter."
And so the king looked up and down his handsome proposed partner
And speculated on the joys of becoming an uphill gardener
For since the queen had run off with an income tax inspector
He'd never found a woman that he deemed a nob erector.
So why not take a mystery tour upon another bus?
He'd always known his brother Farquhar had a fine pert tush.
This could be the solution, the thing to settle the score on,
With a cheeky little wink he said, "OK my bruv, right, you're on."
*** Free bonus verse by Brian ***
Now it was Farquar's turn to sit and ponder, he really was quite shocked.
He thought he was the sneaky bastard, but now his world was rocked.
"But brother, George!" he cried "Why so gay? You've taken me by surprise,
I always thought you were straight, you've certainly opened my eyes."
King George, it's true, up to now had eyes only for the ladies,
But now his balls were blue and screaming fucking babies.
"I need release, Farquar dear boy, and you are just the person,
Suck on this, show me your skills, I hear you're quite a swordsman."
Now the brave knights and the peasants were horrified at this,
They shook their heads in disbelief as the king gave his brother a kiss.
The humble folk of this fair land were pretty used to incest,
But two male royals coming out would surely shame their family crest.
As George and Farquhar went upstairs to practise being gay,
The townfolk all in unison fell on their knees to pray.
"Dear Lord, please won't you help us, we're coming apart at the seams,
What kind of example does this set if our king bats for both teams?"
The royal bedroom filled with steam, the bodies writhed and moaned,
And pretty soon our Farquhar had the good King quite unthroned,
"Oh roger me! Oh stick it hard! Oh let it prod and prod!"
Cried Farquhar as the good King penetrated with his rod.
"Your majesty, your royal ass, it gives me such delight!"
Said Farquhar as he pushed and moaned with all his manly might,
"And now that we're together I just know you'll see the light...
And show to me those clagnuts that are holy, pure and white..."
Then Farquhar shot his jism bolt from his pork sword so firm
But still he thought he had not yet quite finished with his sperm
He turned to face the royal butt preparing for a felch
When bold King George let rip a mighty thunderous botty belch.
The consequences of this act that unfortunately took place
Was that Farquhar now had rather more than egg upon his face
But as he took the bedspread, wiped the spunk out of his eye
King George's regal clagnuts he did enviously espy.
Now the king was not a stupid man, well at least not completely thick,
But he had a nasty habit of thinking with his dick.
His cunning brother knew this from many years ago,
George's massive throbbing member caused many tales of woe.
And Farquhar had a foolproof plan, he'd steal those clagnuts away.
"George my darling" his brother cooed "i've a game for us to play."
The lovestruck king was very excited, and not thinking with his head,
He lay there with a stiffy as Farquhar tied him to the bed.
The dangleberries shone like gold around the royal crown,
Encrusted with red pieces, set amidst a sea of brown,
Their splendidness was super, their amazingness sublime,
Poor Farquhar was so tense he whispered "Yes, they WILL be mine!"
"What was that you said, my dear?" enquired our saucy King,
While wiping jism off his face with some discarded thing,
"Oh nothing sire!" Farquhar replied, "I spoke of your sweet balls,
Now gush me like a tree trunk going down Niagra falls."
But before the king's great hose could spirt a single drop
Yet was in that pole position where you've started but can't stop,
Farquhar's dextrous fingers closed around his royal bum crumbs
And with his other hand he clasped the King's resplendent plums.
Then soon enough the time had come, the sluice gate burst wide open
And Farquhar knew he chance was nigh, no more time for gropin'.
A mighty tug was all it took to wrench those clags so fair,
So round and pure and garnished with torn bits of rectal hair.
"Ouch!" declared the monarch with his teeth clenched firmly shut,
"That bloody hurt you bastard, you tore hair from out my butt!"
And with a nifty movement he had Farquhar on the floor,
"You dirty using bitch," he cried, "You pond scum sucking whore!
You utter slag from Scunthorpe, you rancid foul old hag,
I'll kick you with my high heels and I'll hit you with my bag,
How dare you steal my clagnuts while you fuck me up the shitter,
Ooh you're a right slapper and by God I'm going to hit yer!"
"My dangleberries" screamed the king, "You thief, you rogue, you brute!
You pretended that you liked me just to get your hands on my loot!"
Farquhar laughed most evily at the mess that his brother was in,
Tied to the bed, with his pants on his head, and cum dripping down off his chin.
So the villain turned and fled the scene, the clagnuts in his hand.
He knew that he had in his grasp the greatest treasures in the land.
Down the castle stairs he sneaked, walking on tip-toes,
Thinking how he'd sell the clagnuts and spend the money on ho's.
But as he made his getaway the seeds of doom were planted
It seemed that Farquhar had forgot those clagnuts were enchanted,
And none too pleased at being ripped timely from their master,
The clagnuts grew and grew in size as Farquhar tried to run faster.
They swelled and burst out of his grip and leapt onto the floor.
Inexorably they gained in height 'til they were six foot four.
They blocked old Farquhar in his path, he knew not what to do
As he realised that he'd been trapped by five huge piles of poo.
The poos were huge with pointy teeth, and quite a scary growl.
Farquhar hit them with a spade, and poked them with a trowel,
But still the clagnuts grew and grew, the rate was quite alarming,
No good to either man or beast (but rather beneficial to farming).
Farquhar turned but could not run, the poos were getting bigger.
He wished he'd brought some dynamite, or maybe a JCB Digger,
But pretty soon they squashed him flat, he drew his final breath.
What a way to go! How terribly cruel! Farquhar was Clagnutted to death.
And so, dear reader, finally the moral of the tale -
Heed our words and be assured our advice will not fail.
Next time that you feel the urge to go up to a king
And yank his regal clagnuts from his majesty's bum strings,
Just don't! Believe us. Don't. For real. It really isn't worth it.
You could disturb some evil power - you don't want to unearth it.
Royalty simply never shits, this has been known too well,
And so their clagnuts all get summoned from the depths of hell.