Old Sherwood was green and the morning was bright,
When a fellow named Robin stepped into the light.
The sheriff of Nottingham threw a big fit,
For this rogue was too clever, too fast, and too quick.
He wore Lincoln green from his toes to his head,
And pooped on the laws that the monarchy bred.

He met Little John on a rickety bridge,
And cracked him right over his oversized ridge.
“You’re twice my own size!” Robin yelled with a grin,
As he fell in the river right up to his chin.
They laughed at the splash and they shook on the spot,
And added the giant to their merry lot.

Then Friar Tuck joined them, a man of the cloth,
Who loved a good turkey and gallons of broth.
He’d pray for your soul while he emptied your purse,
And hit you with sticks while repeating a verse.
They lived in the forest, completely untamed,
The jolliest bandits that ever were named!

× × ×

The Sheriff was greedy, a pompous old pig,
Who sat in his castle and wore a bad wig.
He taxed the poor peasants for walking the street,
And stole the last boots from their blistering feet.
So Robin would wait in the shadow of trees,
To bring the fat nobles right down to their knees.

“Hand over your gold!” was the outlaw’s big cry,
“To dress up the poor and to buy them some pie!”
He’d rob the fat bishops of silver and plate,
And pass it to beggars who stood at the gate.
He’d strip the rich barons right down to their shorts,
And mock their high status with cheeky retorts.

The Sheriff threw tournaments, setting a snare,
With a bright golden arrow to draw Robin there.
Our hero showed up in a sketchy disguise,
With a patch on his cheek and some spit in his eyes.
He split the grand bullseye right clean through the wood,
And escaped with the prize, yelling: “Robin the Good!”

× × ×

He wooed Maid Marian under the moon,
And hummed to the deer a ridiculous tune.
He lived by his bow and his absolute cheek,
The nightmare of barons, the friend of the weak.
And when he grew old and his energy passed,
He shot one last arrow to mark where he’d rest—
A jolly old scoundrel, the king of the thieves,
Who still takes a bow through the green Sherwood leaves!