Hear ye hear ye, ’tis a proclamation,
‘Bout the upcoming coronation.
The king is dead!
Now the prince be king.
To protect our heads,
Long live the king!
My name is MC Horse, and this be DJ Cart
Get your ass in the stable
‘Fore the party starts.
We got mead and gruel
And the blackest bread.
Did you hear the crazy shit
That the crier said?
I hear the plagues in town,
Which one you ask?
It’s Pneumonic and Bubonic,
Best known as black.
But don’t forsake it G,
We got it all worked out–
The beats and the bass
Will keep them damn fleas out!
No needs for a bleeding
Or for an arsenic rub,
Just grab a fresh flagon
From the liquor tub.
We got a fiefdom here,
For all you serfs of rap.
And tonight this party’s
Giving all tithes back.
Forsooth you say,
Yo, I forsooth you better.
And I’m dropping mad rhymes
Like a monk writes letters.
Cause he’s the only one
Who be literati,
All roads lead to Rome and the Illuminati.
Enough poking around
Behind them gilded drapes,
Or we’ll find ourselves
In inquisitionist straits.
So back to the party,
And the task at hand,
And bend yourself to it
Like DJ Cart demands,
He’s gonna turn it out,
Like he was the Duke of G’s.
And all you party peasants
Get olde time funky.
the Leather Douche 