Jan. 29th, 2017

johnpalmer: (Default)
So, I went to Conflikt this weekend, and while I couldn't participate much, I did decide to indulge my poetic, creative side..

After that five minute interlude, I decided to try to write some filk.

A filker mentioned there weren't enough Discworld filks, and there wasn't a "never set the cat on fire" song. I decided I'd try to start one, though others with deeper knowledge of the whole series could do better.. still:

TTTO Never Set The Cat On Fire
Never cross Gran Weatherwax
It's sure to bring you trouble
The elder witch is wise and skilled
And sure to leave you humbled.
And even if you're awful grim
Don't ask 'bout hedgehog buggrin'
No never cross Gran Weatherwax

And mind your manners in accordance with the facts
and never cross Gran Weatherwax.

Don't ever start a barroom brawl
when the city guard's aroundya
they're on a competency swing
and the troll might kinda poundya
And even if your life is hard
don't duel the over-tall dwarf guard
No never start a barroom brawl

And mind your manners in accordance with the facts
And never cross Gran Weatherwax.

Don't overbuild the pyramids
they'll warp time space continuum
The damage warping does to books
means the author can't continue 'em.
It will disrupt the graves of pharohs
So their kids would shoot you full of arrows,
no don't overbuild the pyramids.

And mind your manners, in accordance with the facts
And never cross Gran Weatherwax.

Added:
Don't bottle feed a baby dragon
It fills me with forboding
Just in case you knew it not
dragons often are exploding!
They breathe out deadly fire, friend,
or jet wash from the other end...
so don't bottle feed a baby dragon.

And mind your manners....

(Edited to fix a homophone misspelling)

(Note: in the books, it was an actual jet exhaust... but I couldn't get that to scan.)
johnpalmer: (Default)
This one was going for "tearjerker" - it kinda works that way for me, a second one for Pratchett:

TTTO Blowing In The Wind:
How many books can an author give to us
When the fates have become so unkind
And why there's no more joys he can he at our feet
Is a question I'll admit I've often whined
How many more years would it be till he'd given
Us the contents of that wonderous mind?
The answer my friend...
(is blowing in the wind? One that never ends?)
...is blowing in the wind. The answer is blowing in the wind.

How many years can the Discworld be real
In the minds of so many loving fans
How many stories did we deserve to enjoy
About a strangely real seeming land?
Just how can you handle that the gods cheated us of
Even more books written by that hand?
The answer my friends...

Well the signal can't be stopped is a lesson that we learned
From the people who ran the Firefly
G-N-U Terry Pratchet has continued to this day
As a way to keep his mem'ry alive
But the question still remains, so be sure we will demand
That the universe explain to us WHY?
But that answer my friend...
johnpalmer: (Default)
This is a filk I'd tried to write for a long time and it finally gelled. It's still a work in progress because it deserves to be sharpened up.

TTTO Big Bad John, though there are extra verses:

Intro: a lot of time, people complain that women heroes are built by a sausage factory - a group of men deciding what heroic women should be like. I tried to avoid the worst of it in this piece, but I reckon there's no way to avoid it entirely. You young folks here can ask your grandparents why I think this was funny.
(ObExplanation: Jimmy Dean, who later bent his efforts towards making breakfast sausage was the original author and singer.)

Just before the circle started you could see her arrive
She stood five foot even weighed 245
Kinda rounded at the shoulders, kinda broad across the ass
'N tweren't nobody 'bout to raise their glass to big Jan.
(big Jan... big Jan...) big broad Jan.

She worked pretty hard to try to fit in
'N magic worked better when she was within
The circle though she wa'ant no popular gal
No real friends just a couple a pals,
To big Jan.

Somebody said she'd battled through dreams
'N kicked out a beastie that was raisin' some screams
But a spell gone bad had burned to the bone
Burned out her heart and left her alone big Jan.
(big Jan... big Jan) Big lone Jan

She wasn't that pretty though quick with her wit
And always had time to help for a bit.
But never stuck around when it come time for play
So's I reckon we thought we'd lose her one day.

But she kept coming back, sometime wi'out a smile
'N helped shape the spellwork for us after a while
I started to realize she had more to her then
I knew we'd all see it, but I didn't know when, big Jan.
(big Jan... big Jan) Big deep Jan


One yuletide circle everthing was a fright
'N hellfire erupted instead of delight
We panicked as we felt the demon's dark spell
And everyone thought they were trapped in this hell 'cept Jan

Through the smoke and the fires of the demon from hell
Strode a hell of a woman nobody knew well.
Took up her stance, lookin' fragile as glass
Yet she stared down the demon - "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"

(Big Jan... big Jan...) big bad Jan.

([rising] big Jan)
Her power shone, all the strength of her will
Pushed back the demon, deprived'm o'his kill
The rest of us escaped from that demon's planned grave
Now there's only one left back there to save, big Jan.

Before they could help her, the demon struck back
It was near dead certain as he made his attack.
Fire and despair would tear her to death
With everyone sure she'd breathed her last breath big Jan.
(big Jan big Jan) big bad Jan.

The death strike landed, that demon's best shot
(pause)
A defiant Jan asked "hey - is that all you got?
I've suffered through worse doing time in high school
Your power can't break me, you demonic old fool!"

With brand new hope they cast the next spell
Ta link 'em back to Jan at the gates of that hell
They were ready to help her if any was needed
twasn't no need, though - one bastard, defeated, by Jan.
(big Jan Big Jan) Big Bad Jan.

They never spoke much of what happened that night.
Never seemed proper to discuss in the light.
'cept for one big lesson they'd learned in the end.
Sometimes the quiet folks make a hell of a friend... like big Jan.


Addendum: "The spell gone bad" clearly did not burn out her heart, or I wouldn't describe her as "a hell of a friend". That line is there because the leftover trauma kept her from connecting as well with a new group as well as she might have otherwise - I also kind-of assume that the after-effects of Big John having killed a man kept John separated from his co-workers.
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