Manchild - Sabrina Carpenter (Bardcore | Medieval Cover) Whitney Avalon & Hildegard von Blingin’

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Whitney Avalon
▶ Whitney’s channel with over 60 other funny songs: https://youtube.com/@WhitneyAvalon
▶ Whitney’s Patreon: https://patreon.com/whitneyavalon

I am elated to present another collaboration with the brilliant and hilarious Whitney Avalon! She teamed up with me to reimagine Sabrina Carpenter’s sweet yet acerbically witty song Manchild as a Bardcore duet. Inspired by the legend of Robin Hood of Loxley, our cover rebukes that infamous villain: King John (Lackland) of England.

Whether or not he deserves his rotten reputation as “Bad King John” is a debate I leave to historians, but he is remembered as a cruel and tyrannical monarch whose heavy taxes and failed foreign wars angered the common people and barons alike. Following a baronial uprising in 1215, King John was forced to sign the Magna Carta, which established the principle that nobody, not even the king, is above the law.

What you see and hear was made by real humans! Whitney and I wrote and sang the lyrics together, and I created the instrumental using a mixture of real and sampled instruments. Special thanks to my dad and brother, as well as the Friday gaming group of Merry Men who squeezed into my studio to record some whooping and hollering. Lastly, the art was pieced together and painted digitally by yours truly using various historical sources, such as the Livre de la Chasse (Book of the Hunt), written by Gaston Phébus.

Lyrics:
They say that while King Richard is away crusading
John is here in England in his crown parading
We might bend the knee, but we’d need some persuading
We ought to find a word for him, commence the berating

Crooked!
Or be it rogue?
Perhaps ‘tis tyrant!
Nay I've a gentler term for it, I know

Self-styled
Look upon his works, ye mighty, despair
‘Tis a lie
For a throne is more than merely a chair
And a crown on a knave
Never did a King make
Self-styled
Thy royalty is rented,
Thou wert always meant as a spare

Why so haughty yet so frail?
Now all his jesters jape in jail
Oh fetch this man some thicker mail
We tire of this tale

Reviled
At least Arthur pulled a sword from a stone
‘Tis a lie
That thy titles are all truly thine own
Say thou’rt chosen by God
But in sooth thou’rt a fraud
Reviled
Thou shalt scurry back to mother,
The moment that thy brother is home

Oh we pray to thee, Lord, thy mercies beseech
He could freeze in the cold or drown on a beach
Catch a bit of the plague whilst making a speech
Amen, we preach
Aye, we pray to thee, Lord, to broaden thy reach
He might lose too much blood to an ambitious leech
Who can say when he might bite a ripe poisoned peach?
Amen, we preach

False pride
Thou art less a lion, more of a boar
Despised
Thy favorite sport is taxing the poor
Oh, we pray to thee, Lord, thy mercies we beg
He could meet a wild wolf who gnaws on his leg
At a royal break-fast he could choke on an egg
Amen!
Amen!