Yoink! - A Blood Ravens inspired song from warhammer 40k universe

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Lyrics:
We landed on a shrine world, clean and blessed with light,
Saw relics in the chapel, gleaming gold and white.
The priest said, "That's the Emperor's!" — we said, "Not anymore,"
A Blood Raven touched it once — now it's ours by lore.

Yoink! goes the relic, into our ship it flies,
From the rubble, from the ruins, from under loyalist eyes.
We don’t ask, we just acquire, in the Emperor’s name,
If it glows, if it’s old, we’re claiming it for the game!

We fought beside the Grey Knights, just one Chapter strong,
They turned around a moment — now their codex is gone.
"Who took our sacred war-gear?" they shouted with despair,
We shrugged and said, "We found it. It was just lying there."

Yoink! goes the data-slate, hidden in our halls,
Scripture, swords, or sacred bolts — we answer higher calls.
We don’t steal, we ‘preserve’ it — for tactical review,
What’s yours is ours, what’s ours is ours, and what’s new is overdue.

Ah yes, the Blade of Saint Kravnos… formerly thought lost…
Recovered bravely from the Ultramarines’ vault last year!
Do we have papers?
No, but we do have bolters. That’s enough.
Good enough. And, Remember: if it’s not nailed down, it’s ours.

The Mechanicus once warned us, Touch that and we’ll be vexed!
So we took their holy S.T.C. and filed it under "Next."
They said it's heresy — we call it requisition,
A Blood Raven never asks, he completes the acquisition.

Yoink! goes the power core, into our dreadnought’s chest,
We salvage, scan, and sanctify — we only take the best.
One man’s relic is another’s war-gear mod,
We’re not hoarders, we’re historians — archivists for God.

The Inquisition tried us once, said our records lie,
Asked, "Where’s the Tome of Exorcists?" — we said, “Let us check the sky.”
A Thunderhawk took off right then, full of crates and loot,
Astartes law is murky — we just execute the suit.

Yoink! goes the mystery box, into our secret vault,
The sigils match? The wards are locked? Then clearly it’s our fault.
We don’t beg, we don’t lease, and we never give back,
If it’s holy, if it’s potent, it’s going in the stack!

A Dark Angel captain yelled, “Return what you have taken!”
We said, “Define ‘taken’ — some chapters are mistaken.”
We logged it as ‘unclaimed’ beneath the stasis field,
And tagged it for review — which means it’s never getting healed.

Yoink! goes the plasma coil, into our forge it feeds,
We repurpose every treasure to serve our chapter’s needs.
Secrets kept and artifacts — we never let them go,
And if you find them missing, well... check our cargo hold below.

They whisper we’re magpies with a fetish for old tech,
But every prize we lift gets a purity check.
From tomb worlds, derelicts, to craft-worlds torn in half,
If you leave it unattended — expect a Blood Raven’s laugh.

Yoink! goes the ancient helm, into our vault it slides,
We’re librarians with bolters and very sticky hides.
We’re not thieves, we’re curators, the Emperor’s own,
And if you value your heirlooms — leave the damn things at home!