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Pumped Up Kicks — Hildegard von Blingin’ & Friar Funk

Originally by Foster The People

Robert hath a swift hand

He doth gaze upon the fyrd, and he maketh a plan

He hath a jaunty cap, perched upon his head, he is a longbowman

He did find an old bow of yew

And a quiver of arrows in his father’s chest, wherefore I cannot say

But he cometh for thee, yea he cometh for thee

All ye bully-rooks with your buskin boots

Best ye go, best ye go

Outrun my bow

All ye bully-rooks with your buskin boots

Best ye go, best ye go, faster than mine arrow

Father worketh all day

And he cometh home late, yea he cometh home late

Mayhaps he bringeth me a gift

For stew is in the pot though it doth taste of grit

I have waited e’re long

Now mine eye is quick and mine arm is strong

I reason with my crooked cap

And say “Thou art an artless, greasy tallow-catch,” yea

All ye bully-rooks with your buskin boots

Best ye go, best ye go

Outrun my bow

All ye bully-rooks with your buskin boots

Best ye go, best ye go, faster than mine arrow