Alas my Lord you do me wrong
To beat my skull so mercilessly
For I have fought one tenth as long
And you have a better helm than me

Chorus
Bruise marks were all my joy
Bruise marks were my delight
Bruise marks received and gave
All for my lady's company

I can not see your rattan sword
It flies to fast for me to see
I made my shield of bristle board
'Twas light but broke so faithlessly

You duck and turn avoid my blows
My sword you dodge so easily
Perhaps because it's garden hose
I cannot score a mark on thee

Though I tread the tourney soil
The Marshal throws me from the fight
He finds my armor's all tin foil
My entry forms aren't filled out right