Fields of Agincourt

(Verse 1) In the mud and the mire, where the arrows fly, A humble archer stands, with a twinkle in his eye. With a bow in me hand and a quiver on me back, I laugh at the Frenchies, as they ready their attack. (Chorus) Oh, the fields of Agincourt, where the blood runs cold, We jesters of the battlefield, with hearts so bold. With a wink and a grin, we let our arrows soar, For the glory of England, and a pint or more! (Verse 2) They call us common rabble, but we’ve got a noble aim, To send those armored knights to an early grave. With a "God save the King!" and a curse or two, We’ll show those fancy lads what an English bow can do. (Chorus) Oh, the fields of Agincourt, where the blood runs cold, We jesters of the battlefield, with hearts so bold. With a wink and a grin, we let our arrows soar, For the glory of England, and a pint or more! (Bridge) In the muck and the rain, we stand our ground, With a jest and a jibe, as the French fall down. Their armor’s no match for our yew wood might, We’ll drink to their folly by the firelight. (Verse 3) So here’s to the lads who fight with bow and string, To the jesters of war, who make the valleys ring. With a hearty laugh and a merry tune, We’ll dance on their graves by the light of the moon. (Chorus) Oh, the fields of Agincourt, where the blood runs cold, We jesters of the battlefield, with hearts so bold. With a wink and a grin, we let our arrows soar, For the glory of England, and a pint or more! (Outro) So raise your tankards high, to the archers brave, Who laugh in the face of death and dig their own grave. For in the fields of Agincourt, where legends are born, We jesters of war shall never be forlorn.