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Big Axe
Master Cynric of Bedwyn performing "Big Axe"
To the land of Ansteorra sailed a viking one fine day.
He rowed right up the river toward Bjornsborg, so they say.
No one dared to ask the reason why he came unto this land,
For the viking there among them had a Big Axe in his hand.
Big Axe in his hand.
It was halfway past September when he swaggered into town.
He come striding
from
the south side slowly looking all around.
"He's a viking out for plunder," came the whisper from each man,
"And he's here
to do
some mischief with that Big Axe in his hand."
Big Axe in his hand.
Now in this town there lived a Norman by the name of Jean Pierre.
He was foppish and a dandy and put perfume in his hair.
But was vicious and was deadly with the rapier at his side
And the many men that faced him were the many men that died.
Many men that died.
The Norman's fame at wenching was a scandal in the land.
A duchess or a milkmaid were like putty in his hand.
He would use them for his pleasure and then send them home in shame.
And their menfolk greatly trembled at the mention of his name.
Mention of his name.
Now the viking started talking, made it plain to folks around.
He'd come here to wreak his vengeance on the Norman in the town.
Jean Pierre had bed his sister and no bride price had been paid,
Then he sent her back to Norway only after she's been laid.
After she'd been laid.
The Norman merely chuckled when the story he did hear,
Then he sharpened up his rapier and threw down another beer.
Forty vengeance-seeking brothers he had slain unto the man,
Forty-one would be the viking with the Big Axe in his hand.
Big Axe in his hand.
Well, the morning passed so quickly, it was time for them to meet.
Wearing puffs and slashes, Jean Pierre stood in the street.
And the viking dressed in leather and with furs upon his frame
Was the object of the snobbish Norman's obvious disdain.
Obvious disdain.
"I remember now your sister," said the Norman with a smile,
"You have similar taste in fashion and no sense at all of style.
I would rather slay your tailor, but I'll kill you where you stand.
You won't even get a chance to use that Big Axe in your hand."
Big Axe in your hand.
"I come all the way from Norway," said the viking with a sneer,
"Not to enter fashion shows, for you would win, I fear.
I come here to slay a Norman dog whose blood I've vowed to spill
And it pleases me to see that you are dressed so fit to kill."
Dressed so fit to kill.
Jean Pierre glared at the viking with a face so scarlet red.
His honor would be only soothed when viking blood was shed.
Peasants watched them from their windows, everybody held their breath.
They knew this Norseman viking was a hand away from death.
Hand away from death.
Well, the Norman started forward with red murder in his hand,
And the minstrels sing the battle was the swiftest in the land.
The rapier barely cleared it's scabbard when the Axe came crashing down
And the Norman toppled over with a Big Axe in his crown.
Big Axe in his crown.
It was over in a moment and the folks had gathered round.
There before them lay the body of the Norman on the ground.
Well, he might have gone on living, never thought of lying dead...
But, it's kind of hard to think when there's a Big Axe in your head.
Big Axe in your head.
Big Axe, Big Axe...
And it's kind of hard to think when there's a Big Axe in your head,
Big Axe in your head.
©
Ron Snow (Ragnar Ulfgarsson) & Melissa Snow
Bjornsborg - Works by Ron
Snow