[Verse 1] Hark, good gentles, lend an ear, if you've no need to flee! Of Groo the Wanderer's origin, I'll sing my theory. No scroll, no sage, no ancient text, can tell us whence he came, Or how a babe so lacking wits, acquired such battle fame! [Verse 2] Was he dropped by a clumsy stork? Or found beneath a stone? Did mountain wolves raise him on frays, and gnawing on a bone? Some say a wizard, addled old, with spells all gone awry, Tried breeding heroes, bold and grand, but only birthed… well, Groo, oh my! [Verse 3] He learned no letters, spoke no sense, his thoughts a muddled stew, But place a sword within his grasp, and something bright shone through! His tiny hands, with toddler strength, would swing a stick with might, And anything that stood nearby, would soon be out of sight! [Verse 4] No master taught him how to fight, no dojo claimed his name, It seemed the skill for cleaving foes was built into his frame! He’d see a fray, his eyes would gleam, a happy, gurgling sound, Then charge right in, a tiny tyke, and level all around! [Verse 5] His village sighed, then packed his lunch (a very large one, true), And pointed vaguely to the hills, "Adventure waits for you!" They cheered him off with forced delight, then quickly barred the gate, And thus began the wandering life, sealed by a muddled fate! [Verse 6] He sought no gold, no princess fair, no kingdom to command, Just cheese dip, frays, and then more frays, across this weary land. So how did Groo become just Groo? The answer's plain to see, He simply *was*, and *always is*, disastrously! [Final Lute Flourish] Now, if you please, a copper coin? This singing makes me dry! And pray that Groo is far from here, or we might bid goodbye!
