On any night prepare for fright and buy another round,
He's full of cheer and holds his beer but never held his ground,
He drinks his ales and tells the tales of all that he achieves,
The spilling of the chilling of the Hero's Rusty Greaves!

So harken to a man that you can envy for his feats,
Despite the fact that each attack results in his retreats,
You'll hear the sound, when chips are down, his bladder, thus, relieves,
The sloshing and withdrawing of the Hero's Rusty Greaves!

He's not the type to snark or snipe on others in the bar,
Though often they make sport of him for being so bizarre,
He's guileless though underdressed with nothing up his sleeves,
It's hard to bear that all he wears are Hero's Rusty Greaves!

Don't be annoyed, it fills the void, when times are of the need,
The boastful way he'll drain the day with each and every deed,
He's telling you of all that's true or all that he believes,
The fabricated, quite inflated, Hero's Rusty Greaves!

Decline the plea, to sit on knee, when beckoning he will,
Fair warning of his massive love for bottles he will kill,
Though slaying of the living is a thing that makes him heave,
Don't chance the moist advances of the Hero's Rusty Greaves!

He's had the clap, within his lap, and vermin there reside,
The closest thing to battle scars for which he can take pride,
Are marks upon his bottom that his armor often leaves,
The rubbing and the chafing from the Hero's Rusty Greaves!

Someday he'll die and all will cry and plant him down below,
But be advised, don't be surprised at all that there will grow,
The flowering and towering of trees with many leaves,
Well fertilized, wherever lies, the Hero's Rusty Greaves!