Tag: Filk

With Apologies to Leon Payne…

Can you fry me up some slab, Mamma?
‘Cause I’m as hungry as can be
Life in this hive is just so drab, Mamma
You know that everyone hates me

Like the Gangers with their hair, Mamma
Down by the manufactory arch
There was some lightning from the air, Mamma
And now they’re turning them to starch

Think I’m a Psyker, don’t you Mamma?
The warp into my mind it drips
Think I’m a Psyker, don’t you Mamma?
They’re gonna take me to the ships

You won’t believe the things I’ve seen, Mamma
When I lay me down to rest
I’ve been having crazy dreams, Mamma
About this lady named ‘Slaanesh’

She has all these wild plans, Mamma
And they all seem really great
But I just don’t understand, Mama
Why she keeps calling me ‘The Gate’?

Think I’m a Psyker, don’t you Mamma?
You think I’m gonna lose control
Think I’m a Psyker, don’t you Mamma?
They’ll put those bindings on my soul

You know the Temple by the shore, Mamma?
Well I was feeling kind of lost
So I walked in through the door, Mamma
But everything got rimed with frost

An Ecclesiarchy Clerk, Mamma
Offered me the Emperor’s Grace
Well I kind of went berserk, Mamma
And somehow melted off his face

Think I’m a Psyker, don’t you Mamma?
Please Mamma hide me here at home
Think I’m a Psyker, don’t you Mamma?
Don’t let them feed me to the Throne

Think I’m a Psyker, don’t you Mamma?
The Inquisition’s drawing near
Think I’m a Psyker, don’t you Mamma?
But Mamma…
Didn’t you die last year?

(And some versions of the original, in case you’re not familiar…)

Worms

I was musing on the historical origins of the rod of Asclepius in the shower this morning (as you do) and suffered another one of those attacks where my brain produces something completely awful and then won’t let me rest until I inflict it upon a candid world. So it is with great sorrow, regret and apology that I present the following vicious and unjustified attack upon the musical legacy of the Beach Boys. I am so very sorry…

Worm, worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!
Guinea worm, worm, worm, I gotta worm!
I gotta worm, worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!
Gotta worm, worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!
Messing with my brain! Worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!
I’m in real bad pain! Worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!
I’m sick of all the healers with their same old tricks,
I gotta find a new Doc with a twisty stick!
I gotta worm, worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!
Guinea worm, worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!
Messing with my brain! Worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!
I’m in real bad pain! Worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!

Sorry.

Happy Taumas!

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all cross the zone,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a drone,
The fire-ports were locked with their lasguns in place,
In the hopes that an enemy would soon show his face,

The guardsmen were sleeping, tucked up in their billets,
Dreaming of recaff and sizzling grox fillets,
For the rations were low, the supply lines were cut,
The Commander sat up with his rumbling gut,

Unable to sleep he pondered, and tried,
To figure how long they could last unsupplied,
Then on the perimeter sounded a klaxon,
He leapt to his feet, glad of such a distraction,

Across to a gunport he flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutter and lifted the sash,
The night vision auspex he pulled to his eye,
Providing a scan of the objects outside,

His bolt gun unholstered, preparing to shoot,
He beheld a Piranha and eight spikey Kroot,
And a little blue driver with a slit in his brow,
He knew in a moment it must be a Tau,

The Tau and his Kroot flew in over the ice,
And he whistled, and shouted (via translation device),
“Now Gnawer! Now Chewer! Now Nibbler and Biter!
“On Shaper! On Shooter! On Slicer and Fighter!

“To the top of the bunker! To the top of the wall!
“Now lift away! Lift away! Lift away all!”
To the top of the bunker the xenos all flew,
Boxes strapped on to the Tau and his crew,

The Commander spun round, as the ceiling hatch popped,
Through it the Tau and his porters all dropped,
He looked like a daemon, his skin pale and blue,
His oddly cleft face and his cloven feet too,

But a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Showed the Commander he had nothing to dread,
Not speaking a word, they went straight to their task,
Resupplying each backpack and filling each flask,

Then raising salute with a hand sign quite strange,
They headed back out to the place whence they came,
The Tau primed the piranha, the Kroot gathered round,
And away they all flew, barely making a sound,

Yet to the Commander he yelled (via translator),
“Happy Christmas to all, for the Good that is Greater!”

POSTSCRIPT

(The Inquisition turned up at the rise of the sun,
Destroyed all the evidence and purged everyone)

I’m So Very Sorry…

In the Isles of Japan,
There’s a place called Tokyo,
That’s where we wanna go,
To get away from it all…

Bodies in their pods,
Temples to the Shinto Gods,
We’ll be falling in love,
To the rhythm of a taiko drum,
Way down in Tokyo…

Matsudo, Machida
Oo I wanna see ya!
Yao, Yokahama
C’mon pretty mama!
Kyoto, and Edo,
Baby why don’t we go?
Down to Tokyo,
We’ll get there fast and then we’ll take it slow!
That’s where we wanna go,
Way down in Tokyo…

Ursarkar E. Creed’s Favourite Song

Kell on the other hand can’t stand it…

(With profound apologies to Pig with the Face of a Boy)

I had a little stormbolter,
He was my only friend,
I took him to the holoshow,
And loved him ’till the end,

I had a little barking toad,
On my windowsill,
And he ate all the flies,
That came in my room,

Please don’t tread on my stormbolter,
He’s my only friend in the whole wide world,
Please don’t tread on my stormbolter,
Or I’ll have to cut your head off, with a blunt chainsword,

I had a little plasma gun, I shot it at a Tau,
I fired off six shots and I burnt my hand on the grip,
I stole a Sister’s laud-hailer and used it to do this,
CREEEEEEED!!!
But then a Necron broke it so I damaged all his face,

Please don’t tread on my stormbolter,
He’s my only friend in the whole wide world,
Please don’t tread on my stormbolter,
Or I’ll have to wipe the remnants of your insides off my face,

Please don’t tread on my little barking toad,
He’s my only, only friend in the whole wide world,
He was little, and green, and he kept me free from flies,
Until someone trod on him, and he exploded, destroying everything for a radius of approximately one kilometre,
And it was very, very sad,

Please don’t tread on my stormbolter,
He’s my only friend in the whole wide world,
How would you like it if I stole your cogigtator?
And I gave it to an Eldar in exchange for spirit stones?

Please don’t tread on my stormbolter,
He’s my only friend in the whole wide world,
Please don’t tread on my stormbolter,
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha,
Ha! ha! ha ha ha!
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha,
Ha! ha! ha ha ha!
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA,
Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh,

Good!

Dark Fruits of the Mind

Anyone actually singing this in the 41st Millennium would be up before the Inquisition so fast…

The thing about having a creative brain is sometimes it’ll create things you just don’t want it to. And the only way to get rid of things that it’s created against your will is to spit them out into the world – otherwise they’ll lurk in the dark corners of your mind and jump out to torment you when you least expect them to.

As such, I am reluctantly forced to subject you all to this monstrosity. I’m so, so sorry…

My mother was the keeper of the orbital dock,
And she slept with a sanctionite warlock,
Out of this union came children three,
An ogryn and a ratling and the other was me,

Oh now see the Emperor’s light!
Oh for the life of a sanctionite!

One cycle I testing out the ammo feed,
Belting out a verse of the Omnissiah’s Creed,
A voice from behind me said “Hey there!”
I turned to see my father floating in midair,

Oh now see the Emperor’s light!
Oh for the life of a sanctionite!

What has become of my children three?
My father then he asked of me,
One was fed to the Emperor’s throne,
The other was converted to a servitor drone,

Oh now see the Emperor’s light!
Oh for the life of a sanctionite!

The warp fire flashed in his skull white hair,
I looked again and my father wasn’t there,
A voice came echoing from the airlock,
“To the warp with the keeper of the orbital dock!”

Oh now see the Emperor’s light!
Oh for the life of a sanctionite!

The Scoliosis Bus

Making light of a serious medical condition.

Had a very enjoyable Boxing Day lunch at Rebecca and Dom’s yesterday. As is usual the postprandial conversation wandered all over the place, and happened to light upon a government funded bus that used to travel around from school to school testing children for signs of scoliosis. Our collective blood sugar levels being all over the place we found the concept of “the scoliosis bus” quite hilarious, and laughed like drains for a good five minutes.

Rebecca kindly gave me a lift home and on the short walk from her car to my apartment my brain insisted on whipping up a set of lyrics, which I now – shamefully – present to a candid world…

The Scoliosis Bus (to the tune of Jingle Bells)

A day or two ago, I thought I’d go to school,
And as I studied there, what vehicle up did pull?
The Nurse jumped out the bus, and measured up my spine,
She said “put on this truss and you will soon be feeling fine!”

Spinal cord! Spinal cord! Spinal chordate truss!
Oh what fun it is to ride in the Scoliosis Bus!
Spinal cord! Spinal cord! Spinal chordate truss!
Oh what fun it is to ride in the Scoliosis Bus!

I am so, so sorry.

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