The Seanchas Temuair, full of mothballs and hair
Lies forgotten somewhere on a shelf
And a heretic wave our society clave,
Has invaded and ravaged our self.
Can there then be a final solution?
It's quite plain and apparent indeed
We must simply provide restitution
By forbidding the heretics to breed!
True Aislings restored by the blade of a sword
In swift contact with heretics' jewels!
Cries of victory ring out and the jubilant shout
"Take up arms and just castrate the fools!"
For what's a few heretics' virility
And what's a few queensberries less
When such measures combat imbecility
And dilute the mundaneling mess??
Nether regions beware, not a one shall we spare
In our unceasing effort of war!
You can run, you can hide, but if you step outside
We shall slice you and mop up the gore!
To all heretics without exception
We believe it will be quite effective
For how can there take place conception
With all heretic males made defective??
All the heretic scum, we men, done up on rum
Shall drag into the woodlands and neuter
We will cruelly laugh as we sever your staff
Till no lass shall accept you as suitor.
And then when our crusade is completed
And your generation dies out
Temuair shall no longer be cheated
Of the essence that it's all about.
We men of the bar are more dangerous by far
Than any kobold or dubhaim
And when we take up arms and remove heretics' charms
Temuair shall be free for all time!
>>Arne Gustaf Swanberg
Skalm av Suomi