A legend is told
Of a knight, brave and bold
Who'd save dragons from maids in the park a lot
But before I begin
This song's not about him
But a different knight, one Sir Farqharlot

A typical knight:
Big, strong, not too bright
But he'd a remarkable weapon, it
Was long, it was mighty
And he'd whip it out, knightly
But had to take care not to step on it

All the maids of the court
For whom others fought
Would beg for a nightly position
They'd say "Once a king
Always a king...
...But with you, once Sir Knight is sufficient"

But all was not right
For Sir Farqharlot, knight
What seemed like a maid had coerced him
It turned out the bitch
Was a hag, yes a witch
And when he said "no thanks"... well, she cursed him

The result of this curse
Could not be much worse
For a knight who was known as a roamer
Now, how can I put it?
He just couldn't cut it
Let's just say "camelot"'s a misnomer

For this knight's nightly horn
Every night would perform
If husbands had known they'd've forbidden't
And the ladies they came
..and again, and again
But poor old Sir Farqharlot didn't

Then one day he cracked
(Monday, to be exact)
And shouted "I'm cursèd, oh curse it!
I know what is best
I'll go on a quest
And find someone wise to reverse it"

So he saddled his horse
(No not like THAT!, of course)
And set out from Camelot. a-questing
With maids of all kinds
A-strung out behind
A-crying, and wailing, protesting

As Farqharlot left
Leaving maidens bereft
Of his company, sobbing and screamin'
He called back "Don't be glum
I must go, ere I come
Back again here to shoot off my .. er.. mouth"

And Arthur and co
Had gone, not long ago
On a quest for their own holy grail
But Farqharlot knew
What he had to do
Was much more vital not to fail

Well, let me just say
That he went quite a way
And fought many monsters who pecked at him
And fair maidens, too
Well, he rescued a few
And he'd check if his curse still affected him

Then one fateful day
Down in France - St Tropez
He found an old woman who'd read a lot
She said she'd endeavour
(Well, she was very clever
And well known for using her head a lot)

Once he'd filled up her purse
She said "Oh, that old curse
Oh, yes, I know exactly what this is
It need not be endured
For it is simply cured,
Like all curses, by first true love's kisses

As Sir F rode home
From his horse he was thrown
And finished face down in the water
Fished out by a rag-
Ged, fish-faced old hag
With a long-haired and beautiful daughter

He knew this was right
It was love at first sight
And as he picked her up and kissed her, he
Thought now I am sure
My curse is no more
Yes! The ratbag's first curse is now history

But as luck would have it
Though she went like a rabbit
Sir Farqharlot still didn't make it
So he finally knew
Just what she had to do
This was his one chance - he must take it

So he asked his new missus
If she'd plant a few kisses
On the spot where they would be most needed
And he'd finally lay her
Like a Brit tennis player
Entering round one unseeded

Alas! He'd not taken measure
Of the build-up of pressure
From several years' inability
And it fired up her nose
Like a high-pressure hose
She did not like his new-found virility

Sir Farqharlot said
"If it goes to your head
I'm sure you'll get better with practice
So let's climb into bed
And think on this, instead:
Be thankful it isn't a cactus"

Now Sir F's back at court
And I must report
That he's started to ride his new luck a lot
And now you have all heard
The rude and absurd
Tale: The Weapon of bold Knight Sir Farqharlot