The Italian came down like a snake through the pipe,
For his glory and vengeance the time was quite ripe;
And the red of his shirt was like blood on the sands,
As he travelled to face me through far-reaching lands.
Like the wind through the forests the word was first borne
Of two plumberly brothers whose wrath had been sworn;
As the Red One was seeking a hand he could claim
And the Green One was seeking his fortune and fame.
With their eyes all a-flashing they murder my hordes
As they travel ‘cross deserts and mountains and fjords
Through the lands of the giants, of ice and of sea,
But their end is assured by my royal decree.
Like the stars in the heavens I watch from on high
As the brothers roll onwards through lands of the sky
And they shed not a tear as my koopas lay slain,
As they rot in the sun and are soaked by the rain.
But so falling the hammer that brutally strikes,
And so failing his leaping the Green meets the spikes,
Like the wheat on the ground after swingeth the scythe,
So the Green One laid gasping and clinging to life.
Then the Plumber goes forth like a shark sighting blood,
As his brother’s last breath bubbles up through the mud
And his wrath finds renewal in vengeance and rage
With his princess forgot in the war that we wage.
The Italian came down like a snake through the pipe,
For his wrath and his hatred the time was quite ripe;
And the red of his shirt was like blood on the sand,
And he fatally fell as I made my last stand.
