Woad’s the stuff to show men,
Woad to scare your
foemen.
Boil it to a brilliant blue
And rub it in your back
and your abdomen.
Ancient Briton never hit on
Anything as good
as Woad to fit on.
Necks or knees, or where you sit
on,
Tailors, you be blowed.
Romans came across the channel
All wrapped up in tin and
flannel
Half a pint of Woad per man’ll
Dress you more than
these,
Saxon you can waste your stitches
Building beds for
bugs in britches.
We have Woad to clothe us, which is not a nest
for fleas.
Romans keep your armours, Saxons your pyjamas.
Hairy coats
were meant for goats, gorillas, yaks, retriever dogs and Lamas.
Tramp up Snowdon with your Woad on, never mind if you be rained
or blowed on.
Never want a button sewed on, Go it Ancient
B’s.
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