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While traveling through Forli, I took her at her leisure,
She said "It's strictly business", Such business was my pleasure.
I am a tactless minstrel, I sing off-key for coins,
If you spot me in the street, Please kick me in the loins.
The things I do to save the world, Surprise me time to time,
Like learning how to play the lute, And making these words rhyme.
Konstantiniyye, I beg you, Let Byzantium endure,
Constantine's corpse would turn, Had not Istanbul the cure.
Vieri, oh Vieri, Yes he of Pazzi fame,
Was just as mad as his old man, And ended just the same.
Proud Romagna's iron lady, A rose of tempered steel,
Could raise the ardor of a corpse, And teach a stone to feel.
Cesare, oh Cesare, A man of great depravity,
Believed himself immortal 'til, He had a date with gravity.
Oh the beauties of Firenze, Can melt a heart, you see,
Beware the girls of Roma, Lest fire you wish to pee.
There once was a man named Duccio, A rat with lecherous taste,
Whenever he would show himself, My fist would find his face.
I sing in Italiano, You understand no word,
But my Greek is nonexistent, And my Turkish is absurd.
I'm dressed up like a jester, I act the fool and mime,
All the actions of those I curse, And run down all the time.
I can't believe I stand here, And sing, my time I waste,
But you who sit and smile at me, Sincerely have no taste.
Before Rodrigo was the Pope, He was a man of vices,
And once he gained the Holy See, He raised his vices' prices.
To judge a lady's character, Note well her company,
If you should wish to seem a sage, Come spend the night with me.
Fair Lucrezia could not sate, Her appetite for lovers,
But I suspect she would be fine, With two or three more brothers.
Young Cesare, I heard him say, Could not be killed by man,
So I tossed him through the air, To see where he might land.
Venezia's grim Doge, A fierce and evil man,
Was just a trifle red of face, When I upset his plan.
No one understands my plight, The life of a musician,
Singing for impatient men, A terminal condition.
I will sing in praise of children, I will croon in praise of dames,
I will chant in praise of mighty men, When I recall their names.
A minstrel's song I heard them say, Brings maidens by the score,
But luck deserts me when I play, They hasten to the door.