We are the first and second sons of Kings. We do the most incredibly stupid things. When we meet Elves We piss ourselves; When we see adults walking around with wings. We crack up laughing and we take the mick. We wind up in a cloud or we get sick. Or turned to stone, Or wedding a crone And running widdershins and damned quick.

Or otherwise engaged, up to our eyes. We brag, we stir, we mock and we tell lies. Upon our Quest Eight Kingdoms West We find no peace; nobody evil dies. No, seven Witches have a Ball and go to it. Our sweethearts meet a toad and say hello to it. We bet it's our Brother De-ar; It is, we ask a favour, he says no to it.

We are the first and second sons of Queens. We get our chances and our crucial scenes. But it comes up Tails While Our Kid scales The castle walls with some wild strain of beans To make his dream come out. What about ours? We've wished on every one of the lucky stars, Got on with Wizards And off with Lizards, Sung the gobbledegook to Arabian jars.

But no, we serve to do the right thing wrong, Or do the bad thing first, or stagger along Until it's time For the Grand Old Rhyme To drop and make our suffering its song. The Fool implied that we were 'necessary' In his last lay. This made us angry, very. Perhaps we are, But his guitar Has found a lodging quite unsanitary.

'Typical Them!' we hear them say at court: 'Brutal, Selfish, Arrogant, Ill-taught!' They thought we would Turn out no good And lo, we turned just as they all thought. We first and second Princes of the Blood. Dreaming of a woman in a wood. Scaring the birds, Lost for words, Weeds proliferating where we stood.

But hell, we have each other, and the beer. Our good-for-nothing pals still gather here To booze and trample And set an example From which the Golden Boy can bravely veer. We're up, and it's a fine day in the land. Apparently some Princess needs a hand. It's us she wants? All right. This once. Show us the map. This time we'll understand.
 
Back to My Commonplace Book