Brancalonian Knights

Our keep is collapsing, our donjon is dusty
The portcullis gapes like a grandmother’s grin
Our surcoats are shabby, our armor is rusty
Our swords like our morals are hammered from tin.

But we’ll have no equals at racetrack or tables
Our steeds are as swift as a bailiff’s pursuit
They graze on the common, we can’t afford stables
They’re shod with the last of our ill-gotten loot.

Our fortune is low but our fame is enduring
We’re back-alley blackguards, we’re no chevaliers
We’ve earned reputations at drinking and whoring
We’re always for hire and never too dear.

No castle will have us, no prison can keep us
We’re the best of the worst and the worst of the fair
If you’re strapped for money, we’re always the cheapest
Just don’t give our names to your condottiere.

Yes, we’ll have no equals at riding and rambling
We’re the worst of the best and the best of the worst
We’ll come to your city for wenching and gambling
And stay till we’ve quenched every one of our thirsts!

Books Available
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside