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Mamluks by Michael Ferrier
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Mamluks

When you're in the Citadel, you'd best be on your guard,
For Mozenrath's a clever cove, it never looks *too* hard.
He has all his alarms, oh yes,
And all his traps and spies,
You'll *know* this when you're being chased by fifteen undead guys!

Mamluks, Mamluks, marching two-by-two,
All mismatched legs, and hands, and head, and some poor bugger's shoe!
Run, don't walk to get away, and don't say toodle-loo,
Remain behind, and you may find, the next Mamluk is you!

Pairakas are a nasty lot -- they kill you nice and slow
But you may find, if you act kind, there's worse ways you can go
A Mamluk doesn't give a toss: his sword is big and sharp,
Mamluk patrols are really just an undead Cuisinart!

Mamluks, Mamluks, marching single file,
With someone else's bloodless bod, and someone else's bile.
Don't stop just now to tip your fez, and don't dare say good-bye,
If they catch you, you'll just have to do what they did -- die!

He's no great conversationalist, and all he does is grunt --
No great surprise, when you realize, his mouth's all sewn up shut.
But if you're in the Citadel, and you get yourself caught,
Well, when it comes to catching thieves, the Mamluk's hot to trot!

Mamluks, Mamluks, marching out the gate,
Time for you to scarper now, the hour groweth late.
You waited just too long, my friend; it's certain sad but true:
The face of that new Mamluk looks an awful lot like you!

Michael Ferrier