Knights of the Round Roast

[Verse] Ye knights so gallant, in halls grand, ye boast, But round thy table fat, who trims the roast, Thy lance be dull, thy wits a ghost, In fair tournaments, always last, ye post. [Verse 2] Sir Tristram, claimeth valor, doth he please? Yet in thy armor dents, akin to cheese, Maidens laugh, upon thy knobbly knees, Yea, prowess rare as winter May breeze. [Chorus] O knights of renown, thy fame be a jest, In thine own tales, thine heads swelled, not blessed, In combats fierce, ye art but second best, Round table revels, in jest, all confessed. [Bridge] Lo, Sir Gawain, chivalrous til ale spills, Til dragon's breath ficeth his waning skills, Merlin's magics cannot cure thy ills, Echoes at Camelot’s walls, laughter fills. [Verse 3] Sir Lancelot, doth woo, Guinevere's heart, Yet fails to draw blade, in crucial start, Ye teach love's game, not warrior's art, In thine own myths, playeth smallest part. [Verse 4] Sir Percival, thine quest, epic fail, Seeketh grail yet finds but pottage pale, Mighty in tales, but in truth, sails frail, Ye knights of yore, naught but wind and sail.