There I was on Hastings beach
Laying in my deckchair,
My whisky well within reach,
Breathing in the sea air.
I looked along the fine sand,
I heard this awful sound,
It sounds like a tuning band,
No, Orchi was around.
He came to me with water,
To put in my whisky,
Something he didn’t oughta,
As I would get frisky.
He sat down eating porkpies
Looking out to the sea,
This was so very unwise,
As the Normans he could see.
Then King Harold rode to us,
He greeted us with mirth,
His great highness we could suss,
Now our king since his birth.
Orchi pointed in the air,
Harold looked to the sky,
Looking to what might be there,
An arrow in his eye.
So the Normans claimed our land,
As Orchi pointed up,
They started to play their band,
My whisky I did sup.
History now shows the lie,
Where Orchi know the truth,
The arrow in Harold’s eye,
Was Orchi’s fault forsooth.