Difference between revisions of "Masters of the Game"

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==Lyrics==
 
==Lyrics==
  
Masters of the Game (The Hartshorn-dale Hunting Song) © 2019 by Eric Schrager
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'''Masters of the Game (The Hartshorn-dale Hunting Song)''' © 2019 by Eric Schrager
  
  

Revision as of 09:16, 22 November 2019

This song for was written for the Barony of Concordia of the Snows by Drake Oranwood when he served as Bardic champion for Jean Paul and Lylie. More details about the song can be found on Drake's song page.

Lyrics

Masters of the Game (The Hartshorn-dale Hunting Song) © 2019 by Eric Schrager


Look! The sun is risen, the hunt must start.

We must bring home game; each will play their part.

You all know the need:

Masses we must feed!

Don’t be staggered, this group has the heart...


(CHORUS)

To the hunt we go, leaving halls of blue and gold.

Crying "Tally-ho!" when we hear the bugle bold.

Soon we’ll drink, Wassail! Dance and feasting bring us fame.

Now we’re on the trail!

Our hounds won’t fail!

In Hartshorn-dale, we’re Masters of the Game!


Hrolfr and Diana we all adore.

She who once inspired the Pennsic War.

Hrolfr lit the fire,

They helped launch a shire,

Teaching dances, while we hunt for more... (CH)


Always on the scent, but where-e’er we roam,

Galliards and Games will we bring back home,

Michel masters each,

Ev’ry game he’ll teach,

So much better than some dusty tome... (CH)


Hunting for flamingoes, they always lurk,

Full of games and tricks, and they wear a smirk.

In a drunken pose–

Hiding on our clothes!

Tracking them is never-ending work... (CH)


On the hunt for fencers to cross a blade,

Notables to dine with at feasts arrayed,

Classes we can take,

Nessie on the lake,

Friends to meet, and mem’ries to be made...


(CHORUS)

From the hunt we come, back to halls of blue and gold.

So we strike the drum, and we sound the bugle bold.

And we’ll drink, Wassail! Dance and feasting bring us fame.

We are strong and hale!

Let’s share our tale!

In Hartshorn-dale, we’re Masters...


To the hunt we go, leaving halls of blue and gold.

Crying "Tally-ho!" when we hear the bugle bold.

Soon we’ll drink, Wassail! Dance and feasting bring us fame.

Now we’re on the trail!

Our hounds won’t fail!

In Hartshorn-dale, we’re Masters of the Game!

Song