Who speaks, with such a sharp tongue, and not get cut

The hasty spew that you brew, without even a sore gut

We eat and dine, and we may shoot an arrow or two

Pick up your weapon, breath and aim, and then it flew

Give to they poor, and steal from thy filthy, ungrateful, rich

That is my saying to thee, as I ride and climb without a hitch

Arrows and apples, are part of our garden Forrest game

Don’t forget that Sir Robin Hood, is certainly my name