[Verse 1 – brisk, fed-up march tempo] We kicked in the door of an ancient crypt, spiders the size of ponies— Two swings of the axe and they all went splat, then we heard the chant of “Ph’nglui r’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn”… Again. Are you kidding me? AGAIN? [Verse 2 – faster, waving arms like he’s swatting gnats] Abandoned watchtower? Cultists in robes. Forgotten elven shrine? Cultists in robes. Haunted lighthouse, cursed windmill, even the bloody gift shop at the waterfall— Cultists, cultists, cultists, wearing the same discount robes! [Chorus – everyone, loud, sarcastic, pointing at imaginary cultists] Oh everywhere we go, there’s thirteen hooded weirdos in a row! Black candles, squid tattoos, screaming about the end of days— We just want one dungeon, ONE, that isn’t booked for the apocalypse today! [Verse 3 – mock-whiny, counting on fingers] The Thief wants loot that isn’t “tentacle-themed,” the Wizard wants books that aren’t bound in scream, The Barbarian just wants to hit something that doesn’t bleed black ichor and call him “chosen one” before it dies dramatically on the rug! [Verse 4 – gleeful rant] We’ve killed so many dark priests now we’ve got frequent-sacrificer points! “Buy nine elder gods, the tenth one rises free!” I’ve got a punch-card made of human skin— it’s almost full, what do I win? Another bloody cult! [Chorus – louder, stomping so hard the tankards jump] Oh everywhere we go, there’s thirteen hooded weirdos in a row! They’ve got the knives, the circles, the chants, the dramatically convenient entrance— Can’t a hero rob ONE tomb without joining a multi-level summoning scheme? [Verse 5 – triumphant, half-crazed] So now we bring a welcome basket: holy water, garlic, and a “please leave” sign. We leave it at the dungeon door with a note that says “We’re not the chosen four— go bother some other adventurers, we’re unionised and off the clock!” [Bridge – spoken over frantic strumming] Last week we found an empty cave— no cultists, no tentacles, no chant! We were so happy we sat down and cried… then heard faint humming from the DM’s screen. [Final Chorus – entire tavern, some pretending to be cultists, others pelting them with bread] Oh everywhere we go— YES, EVEN HERE, YOU HOODED CLOWNS, WE KNOW! Take your squid god, take your robes, take your ominous minor chords— We’re changing hobby! Tonight we take up knitting… …in a dungeon with no cultists …please, gods, let there be no cultists in yarn (Spoken) “If one more person in a robe asks me if I’ve accepted the Outer Dark into my heart, I’m converting to farming!”
