MUSICAL MONDAY PRESENTS
"Excuse me, outlander. A word in your ear, if I may.
Well met, stranger. Elated to make your acquaintance.
Now may I entertain you with some quotations over cadence?
You see, I bare some rare, amazing information,
and you look like someone who is used to strange situations.
There is a hidden portal within the Bard's College.
I was brought through, an immortal, to impart knowledge,
about an other-worldly form of Redguard sonnet.
They took a thumping drumbeat and said bars on it.
I wandered through Solitude, departed Haafingar, past Hjaalmarch,
through The Reach, east of Markarth.
I reached the Whitehold
I preached in rhyme and told
the people that the need to speak was higher than the price of gold.
Nothing can beat soul.
Not even sweet rolls.
I've got it locked like a pick stuck in a keyhole.
I leave you wee trolls wishing that you re-rolled.
By the Nine Divine's my rhymes are a sight to behold.
My freeholds are three fold.
I rock the property chain,
because I'm the top bloody Thane
in this Monopoly game.
So you better watch the throne Stormcloak,
because you're getting overthrown by an ordinary bloke.
It's high-time Skyrim had a new High-King--
and I like hiking--
it's quite exciting.
I'm descended from the Vikings back in my kingdom,
but my lyric writing's better than my skill at fighting.
My pen is mightier than swords; its the right choice.
They call me "MF TH'UUN" when I use my voice.
With each rap, my speechcraft keeps stacking.
If you could see the graph you'd actually be laughing.
You'll never sound as fresh. I'm a rock star.
I climbed the seven-thousand steps to High Hrothgar.
Like Jurgen Wind-Caller, my words will bring more disorder
than mixing Skooma in an Orcish brigand's drink order.
A bawdy bard that raps, my Voice'll cause your cart to crash.
Your horse's armor cracks under the awesome force of Paarthurnax.
But here's the serect I needed to tell:
You can be an MC with me, as well.
Forget the Blades, me and you don't need the Greybeards.
Who are Mehrunes Dagon and the Daedra to an athiest?
Mages, take your spell tome and go the hell home,
because who needs boots of speed when we've got shell toes?
And so whether you drink Honeymead or Alto,
be sure that Dan'll smelt flows, 'til all of Tamriel knows.
You should use the bars of the bard deep inside you, and 'til we meet again friend:
Talos guide you. Talos guide you."
