Mean Mister Mustard sleeps in the park
Shaves in the dark trying to save paper
Sleeps in a hole in the road
Saving up to buy some clothes
Keeps a ten-bob note up his nose
Such a mean old man
Yeah my Swag so Mustard boy
My Swag is so Mustard damn man it’s dripping the Sauce
I step in the building and look a Boss I know in the future
That I’ll get endorsed man my fingers are crossed
Suspended in tombs dripping
Devised of drunken delirium eyes
Petulant above a chasm wrought with decay
Cries echo from the tortured
Depraved deity watches in devious pleasure
At the sight of malformed bodies
When the still seas conspire in armor
And her sullen and aborted currents breed tiny monsters
True sailing is dead!
Awkward instant
And the first animal is jettisoned
Legs furiously pumping
Their stiff green gallup
And heads bob up
Poise, delicate, pause, consent
In mute nostril agony
Carefully reclined, and sealed over
There once was a ship that put to sea
And the name of that ship was the Billy o’ Tea
The winds blew hard, her bow dipped down
Blow, me bully boys, blow (Huh!)
A capital ship for an ocean trip
Was the walloping Window Blind.
No wind that blew dismayed her crew
Or troubled the captain’s mind.
The man at the wheel was made to feel
Contempt for the wildest blow-oh-oh…
Though it often appeared when the gale had cleared
That he’d been in his bunk below.
-“BB”-
We were forty miles from Albany forget it I never shall
What a terrible storm we had one night on the Eri-e Canal
Oh the Eri-e was a-rising, the gin was a-getting low
And I scarcely think we’ll get a drink till we get to Buffalo,
till we get to Buffalo
“O father! I see a gleaming light,
Oh say, what may it be?”
But the father answered never a word,
A frozen corpse was he.
Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,
With his face turned to the skies,
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow
On his fixed and glassy eyes.
Split your lungs with blood and thunder
When you see the white whale
Break your backs and crack your oars men
If you wish to prevail
This ivory leg is what propels me
Harpoons thrust in the sky
Aim directly for his crooked brow
And look him straight in the eye
White whale, holy grail
That’s a pretty obscure cut you found there, Professor.
Procol Harum and George Harrison both released songs titled “The Wreck of the Hesperus”, but according to a Google search of the lyrics, neither one used the lines of the poem.
-“BB”-
Crack that whip
Give the past the slip
Step on a crack
Break your momma’s back
When a problem comes along (You must whip it)
Before the cream sits out too long (You must whip it)
When something’s going wrong (You must whip it)
Mama, oooh,
Didn’t mean to make you cry,
If I’m not back again this time tomorrow,
Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters
Now the skies could fall
Not even if my boss should call
The world, it seems so very small
'Cause nothing even matters at all
See, nothing even matters
See, nothing even matters at all
[I’ve heard *The Wreck of the Hesperus* sung at a number of SF/Fantasy conventions. I don’t know it’s been recorded.]
I think that’s an example of what they call ‘filk music’.
In play —
There you go and baby, here am I.
Well, you left me here so I could sit and cry.
Well, golly gee, what have you done to me?
Well, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.
-“BB”-
[Nah, it’d only be considered filk music if it was written recently. It’s just a ballad.]
It don’t matter to me
If you take up with some
One who’s better than me
'Cause your happiness is all I want
For you to find
Peace, your peace of mind
I know the reason youve been crying
Oh yes I heard she wont be needing you
How does it feel being the one left behind
What’s a matter baby is it hurting you
What’s the matter with the clothes I’m wearing?
Can`t you tell that your tie’s too wide?
Maybe I should buy some old tab collars.
Welcome back to the age of jive.
Where have you been hidin’ out lately, honey?
You can’t dress trashy till you spend a lot of money.
I was walkin’ into town in my white bucks
A man with a gun, he said hands up
I tried to get away but too slow
He got me and took all of my dough
I heard him shout
As he cut out
Well you ain’t lost nothin’
What you cryin’ about
Your cash ain’t nothin’ but trash
Your cash ain’t nothin’ but trash
Your cash ain’t nothin’ but trash
There’s something happening here
But what it is ain’t exactly clear
There’s a man with a gun over there
Telling me I got to beware
I think it’s time we stop
Children, what’s that sound?
Everybody look, what’s going down?
Georgia Sam, he had a bloody nose
Welfare Department, wouldn’t give him no clothes
He asked poor Howard, “Where can I go?”
Howard said, “There’s only one place I know”
Sam said, “Tell me quick, man, I got to run”
Oh, Howard just pointed with his gun
“That way down on Highway 61”