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