Six thousand by six thousand stood they,
The stalwart cunts,
Weaponless and exposed, they marched on
And sixty thousand by sixty thousand, did they face
Of men, both terrible and strong.
And quickly were they trodden upon.
Those brave cunts, those brave cunts!
The bards would someday sing.
Those cunts, which stood against the dawn.
And as they were slaughtered, they stood braver still
No queef nor complaint did they utter.
They stood upon that hillside slaughterground,
Like floppy pink pillars of stone.
For theirs is not to reason why,
Theirs is but to do and die.
O cunts, O stalwart cunts.
ADDENDUM:
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