Chum: beware l’homme de guerre avec sword! His fell move may well prove untoward.
Let’s assume gents with boomerangs might take their best shots from nests out of sight.
Even kings heaving slingshotted stone may assail. (David’s tale's not unknown.)
Do avoid ye the ‘droid with a wand! Run! Go now! (None know how to respond.)
Note twin schmos totin’ bows. (Where’s his br’er? Skip their barrows: tipped arrows! Take care!
Fear this guy: near his thigh rests a knife. Who’s not bettin’ he’ll threaten your life?
Ought the person caught cursin’ wield axes? Not at all! Swat that gall ‘fore it waxes.
Queer's the luck: here’s a schmuck with a crossbow. ‘Nuf’s enuf! None need suffer such loss. Go!
Shit! His staff splits this chaff from its wheat. Clue the gent: “You! Git bent!” [Hit ‘Delete’!]
When a bloke’s yen’s to poke with his spear your left side, what’s left? Hide! Disappear!
Chimes next cad, “I’m Rex Badd! Fear my pata!” Joke’s on him: folks him limn “vir non grata.”
Ought a lad thought “not bad” with his whips get to snag the lit fag ‘tween your lips?
Men may writhe when with scythe you attack ‘em. Moral’s clear: more foil fear when they pack ‘em.
"E-e-eek! A bomb!" squeaks the Mom of this fellow. ("Show no fear!"'s what the dear gal should bellow.)
Ev’ry boychik who toyes (sic) with hammer must be tarr'd. (Trust you'll pardon my grammar.)
Might who wields light new shields run the risk of a scrap with a chap with a disc?
Sound th’alarm! Bounder’s armed with a stick. Answer? Charm: lance his karma with schtick.
Tykes with nothin’ – like Goths in old Edda -- combat blind, though that kind should know betta.
“Your soul’s dead,” who's droll said, “empty-handed. Sans one’s gun, man’s undone: ‘no-man’s land’ed!”
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