One tourney I walked out onto the list field
Determined to conquer, and never to yield
Then I saw my opponent and started to frown
His knuckles were dragging down onto the ground

Chorus:

Thug, Thug, He is a Thug
Lurking in melees for someone to mug
He uses his broadsword just like a thin club
Finesse just escapes him, for he is a thug

He was wearing black leather, and a great helm of steel
And chains like a biker, all poised for the kill
His shield was enormous, I'm really not scoffing
It looked the lid stolen off of a coffin

Chorus

I tried quick combo at his shield and head
But my sword almost shattered and arm went quite dead
He took one step forward and knocked me on down
He took my wallet and keys as I lay on the ground.

Chorus

The Marshals called "Hold!" and we started again
I threw my best wrap, he ignored it and then
Swung a straight shot with his ugly mace
It broke my shield and my arm, before it hit my face

Chorus

So take my advice, and heed well my song
When you face a thug, your life won't be long
If you wish to exit both whole and alive
Do not use a broadsword; use a Colt .45

Dedicated to all those new (and old) fighters who throw skill and finesse to the wind, and just go in bashing.