Once a jolly trufan went to join a Westercon;
He had duly registered and paid every fee,
And he sang when he saw what the waitress put before him there,
"You'll come a-bouncing, potatoes, with me."
Chorus: "Bouncing potatoes, bouncing potatoes,
You'll come a-bouncing, potatoes, with me."
And he sang when he saw what the waitress put before him there,
"You'll come a-bouncing, potatoes, with me."
"Is this a musketball that was fired at Lexington?"
"No." said the waitress, "that is a pea."
"But," said the fan, "that is here within my coffee cup--
"You'll come a-bouncing, potatoes, with me."
{chorus}
"What is this piece of gray-green greasy Limpopo,
All set about with a strange fever tree?"
"That," said the waitress, "is roast beef and salad too."
"You'll come a-bouncing, potatoes, with me."
{chorus}
"Is this a hippie-type that I see before me here?
It is as unshaven as hairy can be."
"No," said the waitress, "that is your ice cream dessert--
"You'll come a-bouncing, potatoes, with me."
{chorus}
Upchucked the trufan, leaped into the swimming pool.
"You'll never bake me alive!" cried he.
But his ghost can be heard by the call-girls at that swimming pool:
"You'll come a-bouncing, potatoes, with me."
{chorus}
Bluster on, master race. Kick some ass in hyperspace.
Our space opera goes rolling along.
Shoot that smerp (what a grouch!) Drag that broad behind a couch.
Our space opera goes rolling along.
Fasten seatbelts please.
Here we go at 50 G's.
Scrape yourself up from the floor.
If this violence offends,
Burn a cockroach with your lens.
Our space opera goes rolling along.
Not a rest-room in sight! (second cluster on your right...)
Our space opera goes rolling along.
Solitaire getting dull? Something's eating through the hull.
Our space opera goes rolling along.
Batten down that stuff!
Negaspace is getting rough.
Should have camped out on Deneb 3.
Scramble eggs or scramble guts,
Just remember what is what.
Our space opera goes rolling along.
Power up! Screens aglow! Battle stations! Here we go!
Our space opera goes rolling along.
Never lose your aplomb (try an antimatter bomb).
Our space opera goes rolling along.
Well it's Crack! Crack! Crack!
All the screens are turning black.
Shoot! What the heck do we do now?
Choose another from the stacks;
Half price on all paperbacks.
Our space opera goes rolling along.
Oh, are you going to Centauri Fair?
Starship flight and travel in time.
Remember me to one who lives there,
For she once was a true love of mine.
{Man's Verses}
Tell her to take from a comet its tail
Starship flight and travel in time,
And sail the stars on a great silver sail,
For then she'll be a true love of mine.
Tell her to find me a planet of gold,
Starship flight and travel in time,
A world where men need never grow old,
For then she'll be a true love of mine.
Tell her to follow the seconds' swift way,
Starship flight and travel in time,
And change the pattern of yesterday,
For then she'll be a true love of mine.
{Woman's verses}
Oh, will you fashion a fine wedding band,
Starship flight and travel in time,
From the dwarf star's heart, for my left hand,
Or never be a true love of mine.
Oh, will you make me a machine that is wise,
Starship flight and travel in time,
And learn from it why lovers tell lies,
Or never be a true love of mine.
And when all is done, then the whispers of space,
Starship flight and travel in time,
Will call you on to our trysting place,
And then you'll be a true love of mine.
{Both}
Oh, are you going to Centauri Fair?
Starship flight and travel in time.
Remember me to one who lives there,
For (she/he) once was a true love of mine.
We're coming, we're coming, our brave little band.
For good story values we're taking our stand.
We do not like New Wave because it is bad.
We want the same future that we always had.
Chorus: Del Rey, Del Rey's the best sf,
The best sf, the best sf,
Del Rey, Del Rey's the best sf,
That's the song of the Old Wave Legion.
We do not like Malzberg or Ballard or Lem,
Silverberg, Tiptree, or any of them.
Oh can you imagine a fouler sin
Than books where the heroes don't always win?
{chorus}
We don't like Delany, his style is too deep,
And Dhalgren's so long that it puts you to sleep.
Oh can you imagine a crueler blow
Than dropping your copy and breaking your toe?
{chorus}
We do not like Harlan, we think him a rat.
He sold out to the mainstream; we hate him for that.
Oh can you imagine a dirtier guy?
He's won all those Hugos and still says "sci-fi".
{chorus}
We do not like mainstream because it is dumb.
There's no Sense of Wonder; it's cheerless and glum.
It's mundane and windy and tiresome too.
We never read any, but know this is true.
{chorus}
The fans have gathered 'neath bright ballroom lights,
To sing of strange planets and rockets in flight.
The bar overheard us -- they've closed for the night.
They can't take the sound of our singing.
Chorus: So belt out what ever note suits you,
The rest will join in, each one in his own key.
And its fare-ye-well all vestige of harmony,
All of the filkers are singing.
When the singalongs start in this gathering of friends
The hotel staff screams, "Dear God, when will it end?"
The drunks and the tone-deaf add to the blend
Of what we have the gall to call singing.
{chorus}
Our bloodshot eyes clash with the pink morning sun,
It's one hell of a night once the singing's begun.
Yet for some reason they claim it is fun
When everyone's gathered for singing.
{chorus}
The Ballad of Lime Jello
Words: David Bratman and Rael Starhand
Music: "Titwillow," by Gilbert & Sullivan
From The Westerfilk Collection, Volume One Copyright 1980 by Jordin Kare.
In a bathtub at Discon a famous pro sat
In lime jello, lime jello, lime jello.
And when when he got out, what got onto the mat?
Lime jello, lime jello, lime jello.
He poured himself out a humongous bheer,
Then he said to himself, "This is mightily queer."
He yelled out to the hall, "There's an orgy in here,
With lime jello, lime jello, lime jello!"
His wife came back later, and what did she find
But lime jello, lime jello, lime jello?
On furniture, floor and venetian blind
Was lime jello, lime jello, lime jello.
The first thing she did was go out of her mind.
Then she said to him, "Dear, that was very unkind."
But that very evening, the two of them dined
On lime jello, lime jello, lime jello.
A long, long time ago, I can still remember
How those stories used to make me smile;
And I knew that if I had God's grace,
I could save the human race
From anything but itself for awhile.
But puberty, it made me shiver
With new emotions it delivered
One step o'er the doorstep--
Would we live to take one more step?
'Cause I remember that fateful night
When mankind reached its greatest height
To be drowned out by Walter Cronkite
On the night that sf died so--
Chorus: Bye, bye fantasy and sci-fi
Got my Gestetner from my Penciller, but the ink gun ran dry
And good old fen were talking pshaver and psi
Singing, "Why did sf have to die?
Why did sf have to die?"
Do you believe in Cthulhu?
Can clearing find the one true you,
If John Campbell tells you so?
And do you read that Buck Rogers stuff
What do you mean earth ain't room enough
And what do you mean the speed of light's too slow?
So you didn't fall for that war with Mars
But that don't mean we'll reach the stars
And anyway, just why
Go to pinpoints in the sky?
But I was a happy teenage neofan
With my beanie copter and my vital elan
Looking for a mother for the superman
On the night that sf died. I started singing--
{{Chorus}}
For fifty years we've been on our own
But now the English profs won't leave us alone
But that's not how it used to be
When an anarchist's daughter and a West Point cadet
Wrote in a tradition that stretched back past Kret,
But their ideas belonged to the nineteenth century.
And a Briton's nightmares and a Frenchman's dreams
Bubbled over from the mainstream
'Twas not the sf we know
But it was swiftly becoming so.
And then the man who sold the first TV screen
Amazed us with his magazine,
And got us all a ghetto as Philistines
Till the night that sf died. We were singing--
{{Chorus}}
I first feared that sf would die
When I saw the wells at last run dry;
Then I hailed a bird that couldn't be.
I rode that bird a long, long way,
And I can still hear Seaton say,
"Oh well, it was just another theory."
Could Homer's gods have made one so real
As a friend-a-mine by the name-a-Tweel
There as Penates and as Lars
Before the maker of the stars?
Then when we were just thirteen years old,
The age of silver turned to gold
When one man did the genre mold
Till the night that sf died. We were singing--
{{Chorus}}
It's Campbell dead I'm eulogizing
In his last years I spurned his zine
Ain't that the way it always is?
There's no Analog, it is unknown
In what direction we'd have grown
Had he never come to edit it.
"Write me a story with men who sweat
And on acceptance you will get
(praise Street and Smith and Lord)
all of two cents a word!"
'Twas not just cross heaven he blazed his path
But found hell's demons good for a laugh
John Campbell never did things by half
On the night that sf died. He was singing--
{{Chorus}}
Rumors of war thundered from afar
While I first tasted caviar
And listened to the translunar song.
Cultures rise, empires fall,
The world's going to the dogs after all
Yet I knew my lifeline would last real long.
As I rode that hell-bound train,
I used my vaulted double brain,
And if should fail null-a,
There was always one premise Shea!
Then a junior birdfan's dream came true:
Hiroshima felt the wrath of Ghu.
Only I wept, for only I knew,
On the night that sf died. I was singing--
{{Chorus}}
I met a girl who made it true.
I told her of Roscoe and Ghu;
She just harrumphed and walked away.
I went down to that old used bookstore
Where I bought old pulpzines by the score:
Heard the new Michael Crichton book came in today.
The mundanes deigned and the trekkies twittered,
The fakefen faked and the wavicles glittered.
They had no mouth with which to scream;
Then the church bell tolled for Tolkien,
And the three men I admire most--
The Farmer, Anson, and Richard E. Ghost--
All wrote porno from the west coast
On the night that sf died. And they were singing--
{{Chorus}} twice
Trufen Go
Words: Erwin Strauss
Music: "Children Go"
Trufen go where I send you.
How shall I send you?
Well, I'm gonna send you one by one,
One for the One True Fandom
That embraces our int'rests, one and all.
Trufen go where I send you.
How shall I send you?
Well, I'm gonna send you two by two,
Two for the great Foundations,
One for the One True Fandom
That embraces our int'rests, one and all.
Additional verses:
Three for the hearts and lions,
Four for the space-time measures,
Five for the Pentagram,
Six for the numbered fandoms,
Seven for the Seventh Victim,
Eight for the Eight-fold Way,
Nine for the Amber princes,
Ten for the yearly Hugos,
Well, once I read a book told me 'bout a Slan
Ellison told me 'bout the Ticktockman
Went to a con, found out I was a fan--
Thank Ghu I'm a fannish boy!
Then Asimov told me 'bout Foundations One and Two
Heinlein went and told me that free lunches weren't true
I wrote for a zine and an APA, too--
Thank Ghu I'm a fannish boy!
Chorus: Well, I got me my zines and my books in retention
I get my egoboo when my name gets mentioned
Life ain't nothing but a great big convention--
Thank Ghu I'm a fannish boy!
Now, going to a con is an awful lot of fun
Writing up a Feghoot is an awful lot of pun
Go to Arrakis and you'll get a lot of sun--
Thank Ghu I'm a fannish boy!
If you go to a con you'll see me there
Talking with Ackerman, singing with Pierre
Leering at Patia--what do I care?
Thank Ghu I'm a fannish boy!
Chorus: Now, to pub a zine is my life's big intention
I get my egoboo when my name gets mentioned
Life ain't nothing but a great big convention--
Thank Ghu I'm a fannish boy!
Gonna read science fiction 'til I go blind
Thinking 'bout the future kind of stretches out my mind
I loc all the zines that I can find--
Thank Ghu I'm a fannish boy!
And I'll write myself a story if I ever get a plot
I'll work on it for weeks until I think it's really hot
I'll call myself an author if it's published or it's not
Thank Ghu I'm a fannish boy!
Chorus: Well, I got me my zines and I go to conventions
I get my egoboo when my name gets mentioned
Gonna be a fan 'til I leave this dimension--
(spoken) Whoa! Thank Ghu I'm a fannish boy! Yeah!
The trip on a ship that can zip
Into space, in a race to a place
Near a star, where some barbarians are--
That's Science Fiction!
The future, where you needn't do
Any low job; a robotic go-
pher will bring anything when you ring.
That's Science Fiction!
CHORUS: A tale to regale o'er a pail full of ale;
A hail to a frail solar whale with a sail
A time trip beyond the pale,
Full of chance meetings and pa
-radox; you're your own grandpa.
The guy, who by trying to pry
Off the BEM, crushing him in his LEM,
Pulls a gun, and the fun has begun.
The words are on the page;
The page is a world of Science Fiction.
The crew, in a stew 'cause a few
Fuses blew, is pulled through by a true
Hero who quickly knew what to do.
That's Science Fiction!
The outcasts, whose doubt leads to flout-
ing the fate that the State would create
For them, fight--and their might ends the blight.
That's Science Fiction.
CHORUS: The queen dressed in green with a mean evil look
The hero who we know will heave-ho the crook;
A rousing yarn from a book,
Where the blaster that's faster
Will master the aster-
Oids. Alien ray-shooters say
That all men should be cinders, and then
Brave men yell, "Go to Hell!," and all's well.
The words are on the page;
vThe page is the world of Science Fiction.
He wrote of rotting death, and of beer cans left on Mars,
Of shining silver spaceships and their forces 'mid the stars.
He wrote The Martian Chronicles within the lower bars,
As he got stinking drunk.
Chorus: Glory, how we hate Ray Bradbury.
Glory, how we hate Ray Bradbury.
Glory, how we hate Ray Bradbury,
The Poe of Modern Times.
Tell me, Ray, just what is it that makes you write of strife?
Is it a peptic ulcer, or perhaps a nagging wife?
Take a tip from E. Frank Russell and go write on love and life,
You morbid little punk.
(Chorus)
You had a tattooed madman who did never crack a smile.
Your heroes always end up dead. Gad, what a morbid style.
Tell me, Ray, how many graves it is that you've defiled,
And did you like the way they stunk?
Chorus: Would you like to swing on a star
Carry moonbeams home in a jar
And be better off than you are?
Or would you rather be a DWARF?
A Dwarf is a character with long flowing beard
There ain't nothing of which he's afeared
He mines for mithril and he lives in caves
About his gems and gold he simply raves
So if you don't care for sitting on a wharf
You might grow up to be a Dwarf.
Chorus: ...Or would you rather be an ELF?
An Elf is a character with long pointy ears
He lives on forever, not just years
He's tall and slender, he don't sleep at night
He's gay and merry and his eyes are bright
So if you don't care for sitting on a shelf
You might grow up to be an Elf.
Or would you rather be an ORC?
An Orc is a monster with a big ugly face
He hates almost every other race
He lives in Mordor, serves an evil lord
He's mean and nasty, 'specially when he's bored
So if you don't care to use a knife or fork
You might grow up to be an Orc.
Or would you rather be an ENT?
An Ent is a character that looks like a tree
He's not quite the same as you and me
He's rarely moving, though he's old and wise
And always looking for the old Ent-wives
So if you think you'd like standing in cement
You might grow up to be an Ent.
Or would you rather be a WIGHT?
A Wight is a spirit haunting old graves and tombs
He likes moonless nights and days of gloom
He's cold and bony, a most gruesome ghost
Who for live creatures makes a frightening host
So if you like robbing barrows late at night
You might grow up to be a Wight.
Or would you rather be a TROLL?
A Troll is a character with two ugly heads
There ain't nothing that he fears or dreads
He likes to hoard some gold or gnaw a bone
And when he sees the sun he turns to stone
So if you think eating humans might be droll
You could grow up to be a Troll.
Chorus: Or would you like to sting on a swar
Carry junebeams home in a mar
And be better off than a car
You could be wetter than you are
You could be swinging on a star!
When I Was a Boy
Words: Mark Keller
Music: "When I was a Lad"
When I was a boy in a northern land
I served apprentice to a robber band
But drills were dull and I soon got bored
Of bashing silly dummies with a wooden sword.
Of bashing silly dummies with a wooden sword!
They taught me to steal and they taught me to fight
But they never thought of teaching me to read and write--
They taught him to steal and they taught him to fight
But they never thought of teaching him to read and write!
There's not much loot where the ice winds sing,
So I went down South to be a pirate king.
I wenched and I robbed in a warmer clime,
But I woulda been a scholar if I'd had the time.
He woulda been a scholar if he'd had the time!
I stripped the jewels from the Kushite coast
But illuminated manuscripts I loved the most--
He stripped the jewels from the Kushite coast
But illuminated manuscripts he loved the most!
I fought the Picts in the forest gloom,
I fought gray mummies in a wizard's tomb,
I choked a king and I claimed his throne
But I never had a library to call my own.
He never had a library to call his own!
I ruled from the steppes to the Stygian Nile,
A pirate and a bandit and a bibliophile--
He ruled from the steppes to the Stygian Nile,
A pirate and a bandit and a bibliophile!
Something familiar
Something peculiar
Something for everyone
A fantasy tonight!
Something eternal
Something infernal
Something for everyone
A fantasy tonight!
No sf plots
No deadly rays
Bring on the sirens, shoggoths, and fays.
Bewitched encampments
Mighty enchantments
Creatures that prowl around at night
History tomorrow
Fantasy tonight!
Something that's ghastly
Something that's ghostly
Something for everyone
A fantasy tonight!
Something with magic
Which turns out tragic
Something for everyone
A fantasy tonight!
No funny 'droids
No rocket ships
Bring on the mummies, monsters, and crypts.
Nothing to harm you
Something to charm you
Nothing that's normally in sight
Look into the crystal
Fantasy tonight!
Chorus: If I were a rich fan: oh yes, that is all
That I would ever have to ask of Ghu
All day long I'd sit around and publish
If I were a wealthy fan.
(sing next two lines to same tune as first two:)
Wouldn't hold a job; oh no, mundane work
Would never take a second of my time
(on all choruses but the last:)
If I were so very very rich,
I would be so very true a fan.
I'd pub a great big zine with pages by the hundred,
Yours even without any LoC;
Half each page a four-color Bok illo
(sing next two lines to same tune as first two:)
I'd pay for one long column by Robert Heinlein,
One just as long by Arthur Clarke--
And one by Bradbury, just for show.
Chorus
I'd fill my house with writers, artists, and edi-
Tors for the fans to see and hear,
Talking just as noisily as they can;
And each loud "...then I wrote.." and "Trout's real name is..."
Will land like an Algol on the ear
As if to say, "Here lives a wealthy fan."
Chorus
I see me flying first-class every weekend
To each convention, near or far;
Staying in the hotel's most fancy suite.
But I would never be there long 'cause I'd be with
All of the pros down at the bar
Or holding forth with neos at my feet.
Chorus
Bridge: The most important fan in fandom
They will fawn on me!
They will ask me to advise them,
Like Tucker and the rest:
"If you please, BNF," "Pardon me, BNF,"
Starting fan feuds that would cross Claude Degler's eyes
SMOF, SMOF, SMOF, SMOF, SMOF, SMOF
SMOF, SMOF, SMOF
And it won't make one bit of difference
If I side with right or wrong:
When you're rich, they think you really know.
Chorus
If I were rich, I'd have the time that I lack
To read all the fanzines in my house,
And maybe find out who sawed Courtney's boat,
And I'd discuss numbered fandoms with all the trufen,
And whether Yngvi is a louse,
And learn to sing all Filthy's songs by rote.
Chorus
Captain Kirk and Mister Spock beam down upon a planet.
Mister Spock says "Logical!" McCoy tells him to can it.
They encounter big computer which they conquer with illogic;
I am sure I've seen this show a hundred times before.
I know the plot! I know the plot!
I turn on my T.V. set to watch the Late Late Late show.
See the wires on flying saucers--it's not such a great show.
Aliens from Mars and Venus, all committing crimes so heinous--
No one else can stop them but a boy of only four.
I know the plot! I know the plot!
Doug and Tony land upon the deck of the Titanic;
Everyone is having fun--the Tunnel people panic.
Trying to convince the passengers, but no one will believe them
When they say the ship will never make it to the shore.
I know the plot! I know the plot!
Pat McGoohan wakes to find they've given him a number;
Taken him to Ghu-knows-where while he was deep in slumber.
Can't get out and can't get over, only can get stopped by Rover--
Worst of all, the current Number 2's a crashing bore.
I know the plot! I know the plot!
Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Forceful man, I'm told;
Doesn't want to fight Darth Vader 'cause he's growing old.
He and Luke and Solo rescue princess, blow up Death Star,
Leave the Empire and the rebels fighting interstellar war.
I know the plot! I know the plot!
Battlestar Galactica is fleeing from the Cylons.
Starbuck flies a scoutship out while Boltar puts a smile on.
Lands on planet, falls in love, destroys a secret Cylon base
And finds new clues to find the planet Earth they're looking for!
I know the plot! I know the plot!
1999 has radioactive lunar dumping;
Makes the Alphans very nervous, calling Earth and grumping.
Moon goes "boom!" and out of orbit, travelling through space at warp
speed;
I won't take out my atomic garbage anymore.
I know the plot! I know the plot!
Optional self-parody verses:
Went down to a con last week to have myself a good time.
Looked around the costume show, but all the ones I could find
Were thirteen naked ladies, seven Captain Kirks, four Mister Spocks,
A dozen Princess Leias and sixteen Slave Boys of Gor.
They do the schlock! They do the schlock!
Mathematics majors often have to graph a function.
Calculating points and drawing curves gives me compunctions.
I have a computer with peripherals that draw on paper;
All I have to do is load the program into core.
It does the plot! It does the plot!
Bavarian Illuminati never show their faces;
Washington, he disappears and Weishaupt takes his places.
Joseph Malik turns up missing, Hagbard whistles while he's pissing;
Immanentize the Eschaton and there won't be no more.
It's all a plot! It's all a plot!
(Note: the final verse is dedicated in the original "to Reverend Arthur
D. Hlavaty, founder and Primal Nut of the Illuminatus! Nut Cult."
Mr. Hlavaty is a Swarthmore graduate.)
The arching sky is calling
Spacemen back to their trade.
All hands! Stand by! Free falling!
And the lights below us fade.
Out ride the sons of Terra.
Far drives the thundering jet.
Up leaps the race of earthmen,
Out far, and onward yet--
We pray for one last landing
On the globe that gave us birth;
Let us rest our eyes on the fleecy skies
And the cool green hills of Earth.
We rot in the molds of Venus.
We retch at her tainted breath.
Foul are her flooded jungles,
Crawling with unclean death.
We've tried each spinning space mote
And reckoned its true worth;
Take us back again to the homes of men
On the cool green hills of earth.
The harsh bright soil of Luna,
Silent and dead as the grave,
Holds not the souls of Earthmen
Whose lives for Earth's they gave.
The rust-red Martian deserts,
Her lonely wandering sands,
Are naught but alien visions
To who on her surface stands.
Let the sweet fresh breezes heal me,
As they rove around the girth
Of our lovely mother planet
And the cool green hills of Earth.
The stars that shine around us
Are torches on the road
Ebon, extending forever,
And with great peril sowed.
But we must travel onward,
Outward, then outward again,
Exploring the uttermost reaches
Far beyond the realm of men.
My heart turns home in longing
Across the voids between,
To know beyond the spaceship
The hills of Earth are green.
Across the seas of darkness,
The good green Earth is bright;
Oh, star that was my homeland,
Shine down on me tonight.
We pray for one last landing
On the globe that gave us birth;
Let us rest our eyes on the fleecy skies
And the cool green hills of Earth.
Once upon the time winds was a tavern
Where strange folk could have a drink or two,
Reminding us of their immortal wonder.
I saw a unicorn there, didn't you?
Chorus: Those days are gone, my friend;
The need is at an end
Of all those strange and mystic beasts of yore.
The dragon's gone tonight; he went without a fight
And left us here with science evermore.
Unicorns sat perched on the bar stools,
Dragons parked their tankards on the floor.
Orcs and griffins fought for lovely maidens
While imps and demons traded arcane lore.
Chorus
Witches once worked spells upon the tavern
To guard it from the sight of mortal eyes,
For mortals must not seek to know their betters;
What man can know the future and not cry?
Chorus
In the dark alone I sit and wonder,
Will they come and drink with us again?
The tavern waits in sawdust-covered splendour
To be filled with laughing creatures, who knows when?
Chorus
What good is fanning alone like a fool? Come put your costume on.
Fandom's an SF con, old chum; come to the SF con.
Put down the stencil, the zine and the tool, it's time to carouse 'til dawn,
Fandom's an SF con, old chum; come to the SF con.
Come drink the bheer, come see the art,
Come on along and take your part, the Worldcon panel is about to start.
No use performing some dull, mundane chore
Like schoolwork or mowing the lawn;
Fandom's an SF con, old chum; come to the SF con.
Now once I knew a confan name of Willie,
With whom I shared a slanshack down in Philly.
Now he wasn't what you'd call the truest fan;
As a matter of fact, if you said "Fanac", he ran.
Said the truefen, when he left for the asylum,
"That's what comes of those who never sleep and try rum."
But when the wind from the funny farm is right,
I hear him partying each and ev'ry night.
I think of Willie to this very day; I think of how he'd turn to me and say,
What good is fanning alone like a fool? Come put your costume on.
Fandom's an SF con, old chum; come to the SF con.
Put down the stencil, the zine and the tool, it's time to carouse 'til dawn.
Fandom's an SF con, old chum; come to the SF con.
And as for me, and as for me: I made my mind up back in Philly,
When I go, I'm going like Willie.
Start by admitting, from neo to nuts, you gotta keep moving on.
Fandom's an SF con, old chum; only an SF con, old chum;
Fandom's an SF con, old chum; and I love an SF con.
PROFESSOR: Enrollment is declining, our financial state is poor;
We must find a substitute for draft deferment's old allure.
A course the kids are sure to love will be the perfect cure,
And Sci Fi's that for sure!
CHORUS: Glory, glory science fiction; glory, glory science fiction,
Glory, glory science fiction; Sci Fi is that for sure!
GRAD STUDENT: I need a thesis topic for my English PhD.
Now Chaucer to O'Neill, they're studied to the nth degree
But theres a lit'rature which from all prior study's free
And Sci Fi's that for sure! CHORUS
UNDERGRAD: I used to read SF for fun, I bought it by the ton;
I'd sneak it into classes, I would read it on the run.
But now that it's assigned to read, like Keats or like Byron
SF is no more fun! CHORUS
'Twas fannish, and the Big-Name Fen
Had locs and illos in each zine;
All croggled were the faneds then,
And the neos were green.
"Beware the FIAWOL, my son,
The ties that bind you to fanac;
Beware the concom's lure, and shun
The role of letterhack!"
He set his beanie on his head,
Long time sought he for egoboo,
"For apathy surely cannot be
The fannish thing to do!"
And as in smoffish thought he stood,
An idea thrilled him to the core:
"I'll fill a zine with feuds, and plunge
All fandom into war!"
He wrote it down, and round and round
The mimeo went clitter-clack.
And when they read what he had said,
Two hundred locs came back.
"And hast thou pubbed the ish at last?
Come to my con, my fannish boy!
Goshwow! By Ghu! Corflu, corflu!"
He filksang in his joy.
'Twas fannish, and the Big-Name Fen
Had locs and illos in each zine,
All croggled were the faneds then,
And the neos were green.
Chairman of the Next Boskone
Words: Richard S. Holmes
Music: "Ruler of the Queen's Navy", from Gilbert & Sullivan's Pinafore
Whan I was a lad I went for fun
To a NESFA Boskone at the Sheraton.
I met Dr. A (who I think is great)
And I partied from one-thirty till a half past eight!
(Yes, I partied from one-thirty till a half past eight!)
CHORUS: I partied so hard that my mind was blown
And now I am the chairman of the next Boskone!
(Yes, I partied so hard that my mind was blown
And now I am the chairman of the next Boskone!)
Next year I arrived with friends--six or eight.
We rented us a single and checked in too late.
We destroyed the bed and we broke the door
And a half a minute later I passed out on the floor.
(Yes, a half a minute later I passed out on the floor!)
CHORUS: I passed out on the floor with a grunt and a moan...
Next year I bought myself a huckster's stand
And I organized the NESFA Filksong Band.
We all watched films from dawn till dark
And, like Frito, Spam, and Dildo, we avoided the Narcs!
(Yes, like Frito, Spam and Dildo, we avoided the Narcs!)
CHORUS: We avoided the Narcs 'cause we all got stoned...
Not long after that it came to be
I was made the chairman of the Committee.
The search for a GoH was on
So I called up Arthur Clarke (collect) in old Ceylon!
(Yes, I called up Arthur Clarke (collect) in old Ceylon!)
CHORUS: I called up Arthur Clarke on the telephone...
I made a program and I made up plans,
I drove committee members mad with my demands.
I worked so hard, I became deranged
For I knew we had a deadline that could not be changed!
(Yes, I knew we had a deadline that could not be changed!)
CHORUS: We were working a deadline we could not postpone...
Now the con is over and the weekend's done.
I'll give this job to someone else to run.
But if you return, be prepared to see
A Chairman with a face that looks a lot like me!
(Yes, a Chairman with a face that looks a lot like me!)
CHORUS: I cut a piece of tissue for to make a clone
And he's gonna be the chairman of the next Boskone!
(Yes, I cut a piece of tissue for to make a clone
And he's gonna be the chairman of the next Boskone!)
(spoken): Now, strange things happen between the ports,
But by and large, by all reports,
The strangest is if you get caught
In an Unreality Warp.
For you never know just where you'll be thrown --
A fiery sun or ancient Rome.
Now, we were pulled from our friendly skies
And we got thrust into Sci-Fi.
Brave New Worlds. New life and new civilizations.
Amazing. Fantastic. Analog.
We were cruising through unfamiliar space
When a strange look came to the first mate's face.
He said, "Cap'n, Cap'n Jed,
That little star we're cruising to, towards there, up ahead,
Well, it's not bright, and it's kinda red, it's dim, Jed."
We spaced him. Wouldn't you?
Well, we cruised on down to that little star,
'Cause it really wasn't very far,
Landed on the planet of that little sun,
Found out it had a companion.
'Twas a little white dwarf up there in the sky with the red one.
It made our shadows red and long
And the second mate he burst into song.
He sang:
(sung):"I'm being followed by maroon shadows,
Maroon shadows, maroon shadows."
(spoken): We left him. We marooned him. It seemed appropriate.
It seemed he wasn't into Sci-Fi,
He was into Space Opera.
Yes, we left that planet that we found,
For the mate's caterwauling wasn't the only sound.
It was also filled with these cacaphonous robots.
Aye, robots, runnin' around makin' a Hell of a racket.
And what wasn't filled with robots was filled with debris,
And the rust of the robots. Oxides to oxides, rust to rust.
Five minutes on that dim planet would drive you Berserker.
The whole place was filled with the sounds of Cylons.
We figured Cylons was golden, so we up and left.
We took this cute little purple flower with us, though.
It whistled. We called it a Piper violet.
Yeah, we left that world, made our escape.
The next world we hit was full of apes.
We sent the third mate out to scout,
And found out he was being followed about.
He came back to the ship singing
(sung):"I'm bein' followed by baboon shadows,
Baboon shadows, baboon shadows."
(spoken): We went ape, we told him to quit monkeying around
And get back on board the vessel,
But he didn't obey us. He obeyed the great apes instead.
They said, "Take two giant steps backward. Simian says."
He's settled down there now,
Found the gorilla his dreams, united the tribes,
And now he's written their own national anthem:
"The Tarzan Tribes Forever."
Now, we found a planet shaped like a ring;
Never thought we'd see such a thing.
We circled around getting ready to land,
When we got grabbed by a giant hand.
A strange little planet. Weird little world.
Had an intelligent life form that was a giant dirigible.
Curious critters, followed us around all over the place,
And the fourth mate began to sing. He sang:
(sung):"I'm bein' followed by balloon shadows,
Balloon shadows, balloon shadows."
(spoken): Then we met the humanoid on the planet,
And the going got really rocky
'Cause he fell in love, hopelessly and terribly.
It was the worst case of heroine addiction
I'd ever seen. Then he found out that she
Had a dozen sisters, all identical.
Well, he ran amok. He was mowing them down
Like waves of wheat, all the time singing
"John Varley's Clones Must Die".
Two hundred years of Irish history shot to hell.
Easy come, easy go.
The planet tried him, convicted him,
And sentenced him to death on the Ophiuchi hotseat.
The prosecution was Varley plausible.
On a world where they wore green and black
We landed our ship, we were taken aback.
'Cause we settled down and they didn't attack;
We told them that we were friendly.
They started shootin' at us.
Finally, this big ugly fella name of Ian,
He explained it to us. He said they were fightin'
A people called the Friendlies.
He said the Friendlies had killed his brother,
And he was writing a report on it.
It was gonna be a Kensie report.
He said it was so bad they couldn't even have
Harmony in their music any more.
Arguing about Harmony broke up the best band
On the planet -- Jimmy and Tommy Dorsai.
He said he'd met weirdos before, but we were
Enough to drive a Graeme crackers.
By now we were gettin' short of crew,
So we decided to stop and pick up a few.
We were lookin' for a populous place to land,
And we found a world that was covered with sand.
We knew it was inhabited. It was Arrakis world.
Settlers told us it wasn't always that way, though.
They told us stories Harkonnen back to the early days
When all you had to do was sit around
Watchin' the sand worm into everything.
But then there were Children. 'Twas a Messiah sure ya.
Well, we finally collected some crew and
Brought them back up to the ship.
It was a hot sun, so we were keepin'
The ship behind the planet.
One of the new crew members began to sing. He sang:
(sung):"I'm being followed by a Dune shadow,
Dune shadow, Dune shadow."
We were a-Pauled. Atreides to stop him.
We were lost in space, we were flying blind,
When our hydroponics got into a bind.
There was too much neutral in the nutrient broth.
So we gave the robot a bunch of star charts,
Told him to make fertilizer, but he couldn't do it.
He just twirled his arm, twiddled his vanes,
Saying, "It does not compost."
Well, we gave him a "warning -- warning",
Told him he'd be in "danger -- danger".
We told him we'd Krull him if he didn't do anything.
The mechanical idiot. He didn't dare refusal.
He finally decided he could take care of it,
Except for one Forbidden Planet.
Though he claimed it was Robbie-ing Peter to pay Paul.
Now, we cruised 'til we found humans of sorts,
And we settled down in Mos Eisley port.
I was lookin' around for a friendly bar,
And I think I traveled a bit too far.
I was talkin' to this big furry feller at the bar,
He had to keep leavin' the bar and hittin' the john.
Said he drank the water on the wrong planet.
Had a bad case of the Kessel runs.
He had to go every twelve parsecs.
It's a lot like the Logan's runs.
We got kind of friendly, and he invited me up to his flat
So that I could have a Close Encounter of the furred kind.
I declined.
Then he got cantankerous, that bar got uproarious,
And I tell ya, I've been in fights before,
But that was a regular bar wars.
And by George, our Lucas got to be pretty bad before
I'll stop in a bar like that again.
Now, strange things happen between the ports,
But by and large, by all reports,
The strangest is if you should get caught
In an Unreality Warp.
For you never know where you'll be thrown,
An ancient sun or fiery Rome.
Now, we were pulled from our friendly skies
And we got thrown into Sci-Fi.
Now I tell you, friends, my word's as good as Gold;
I'm not Pohl-ing your leg.
If I ever get a chance to go back to my own Star,
Galaxy or Universe, I don't care how Ferman.
Even if I can go by Carr, I'm not a Gernsback, Hugo.
Oh, this lonely old robot is aching,
And his parts, they are wearing away.
Some new parts he'll soon now be needing,
But their cost no one will defray.
Oh, my photoreceptors are failing,
And my eyesight begins to grow dim.
Some new parts they say they are mailing,
But my chances begin to look slim.
I've been true, I've been brave, I've been loyal.
I have met each and every human test.
But as soon as this tired old body wears out
They'll just toss me on the scrap heap with the rest.
From the pits of Aldebaran IX
To the webs of Sigma Grex,
We will make a better man of you
Irregardless of your sex.
Though the Klingons kick sand in your face,
You will know you're worth your beans
When you come and sell your soul to us
In the Outer Space Marines.
When the drill instructor calls "LEFT FACE!"
Better hear those eyeballs click!
If you have three faces, never mind,
Toss a coin and take your pick.
When you're shipped out you'll see lots of space
And some mighty strange latrines.
And you'll cuss the day you ever heard
Of the Outer Space Marines.
If you've two legs, four legs, six or eight,
Seventeen or none at all,
When the troop ship dumps you to your fate
You will hit the mud and crawl.
Whether Earthman, Kklup, or Zapphotuul,
When the buzz-beam's burning red
There is just one universal rule:
Guard your ass and duck your head!
Spoken by drill sergeant:
All right now, Forrr-waaad!
Hup 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 -- hold it!
Hup 2, 3, many, Stop!
Wait a minute, um...evens, odds, evens, odds, no!
Hop-skip-jump...halt!
Left-center-right, left-center-right...
Freaky day!
Everyone here's so way-
Out that I
Can't see them eye-to-eye.
Can y'tell me how to leave,
How to escape Fandomly Street??
Oh, good Lord--
Those guys there're wearing swords!
SCA
Fights with Amber today.
Is there no way I can be
Exciting without injury?
CHORUS: It's a strange experience.
Being here I take a chance,
For everybody is nutty.
Everybody is...
Save my sanity...
Ooh, that's weird.
Looks like it's pointy-eared.
Can it be
Only an odd Trekkie?
Can y'tell me how to leave,
How to gafiate from this street?
Oh, my God!
Now I have dropped my wad.
I've been caught,
For it seems I have bought
All that's in the huckster room!
Will y'get me out of this doom?
CHORUS
Oh, my hair,
Looks like some monsters there!
They're just part
Of that incr'd'ble art
That the fans look on with glee.
'Bye to what's left of my money!
Ouch and zing,
I've been dragged to filksing.
Hear them croon,
But they can't carry a tune.
I can't stand it any more--
Get me out! Oh, hear them all roar!
CHORUS
Here I am
And it's now 5 AM.
Woe for me
For I'm not at party.
Can y'find me where to crash
Now that no one's left at the bash?
No, no more!
Give me what I'm here for!
Let me hear
GOH...Roy G. Frear!?!??
After all this time the Name
Stayed at home asleep on his fame!!
As time and space come bending back to shape this star-specked scene,
The tranquil tears of tragic joy still spread their silver sheen.
Along the Grand Canal still soar the fragile towers of truth;
Their faery grace defends this place of beauty, calm, and couth.
Long gone the race that raised these towers, forgotten are their lores.
Long gone the gods who shed the tears that lap these crystal shores.
Slow beats the time-worn heart of Mars beneath this icy sky.
The thin air whispers voicelessly that all who live must die--
Yet still the lazy spires of truth sing beauty's madrigal,
And she, herself, will ever dwell along the Grand Canal.
Another Weekend, Another Con
Words: Erwin S. "Filthy Pierre" Strauss, copyright 1976
Music: "Another Openin', Another Show"
Another weekend, another con!
In Philly, Boston, or Washington;
A chance to join fannish goings-on;
Another weekend at another con.
Some bheer to drink and some art to see,
Some talk of impossibility;
The comp'ny's good and the booze is free.
A short vacation good for you and me.
BRIDGE: Monday morning, you're flat on your back;
Wednesday, and you're back on the track;
Thursday night is the time you should pack;
Friday night, and we're here!
The treas'rer's taken the cash and gone;
The banquet entree tastes like the lawn;
But we don't care, 'cause we've partied till dawn;
Another weekend, full of fans and of speakin' at another con.
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the ending of the con,
They were trampled on the carpet when the movies were not on.
They were tearing down the walls the guests had rested hands upon.
Praise Ghu, they are all gone!
Glory, glory Roddenbery
Glory, glory Roddenbery
Glory, glory Roddenbery
Praise Ghu, they are all gone!
They were lurking in the corridors where Gene and Majel lived;
Our security arrangements were as leaky as a sieve.
Room numbers committee didn't know, the Trekkies gladly give;
Praise Ghu, they are all gone! CHORUS
Bill Shatner owes his life to fen whose names we'll never know;
They are placing their frail bodies where the Trekkies want to go.
And we all are deeply thankful Leonard Nimoy did not show.
Praise Ghu, they are all gone! CHORUS
Our guests were wont to wander where our helpers feared to go.
Dear George once tried to roam around and thought no one would know.
We picked up what was left of him and put him in the snow.
Praise Ghu, they are all gone! CHORUS
Ike Asimov made speeches where he told all he did know;
Jeff Maynard set up six days just to put on his light show.
Bob Lansing gave us extra work, he knows where he can go.
Praise Ghu, they are all gone! CHORUS
There wasn't much of Destiny her costume didn't show;
The Vulcan hooker Patia matched against her blow for blow.
But helpers didn't notice, they were busy clearing rows.
Praise Ghu, they are all gone! CHORUS
Hal Clement fixed the science errors that Gene's writers made
And reshaped worlds to be those where the Enterprise had stayed.
This year he told us of the planet where unto Vaal men prayed.
Praise Ghu, they are all gone! CHORUS
Bob Lansing, Gene and Majel were all drinking in the suite.
The committee and assistants were all nursing blistered feet.
We'll discuss our plans for next year's con, but not before we eat!
Praise Ghu, they are all gone! CHORUS
If reading SF epics tends to make you feel adventury
We've wargames from a thousand lands, from each and every century:
In alleyways of Lankhmar follow Fafh' and Mouser's lechery,
Or take a walk with Frodo, but beware of Gollum's treachery!
Become a Starship Trooper and you'll mash the Bugs quite properly,
Or mortgage half the universe while playing Space Monopoly;
Fight dragons that are green and brown and golden and vermilion
With heroes from the Conan books and from the Silmarillion.
From World War Two we have a game, the Yanks against the Germans where
The Fallschirmjaeger panzerfaust at unsuspecting Shermans there;
Or you can play Diplomacy, where double-crosses skewer ya,
Or stage a little World War Three and atom-bomb Manchuria!
BRIDGE: Or travel into paratime, the histories that might ha' been;
Have Cromwell fighting Romans, or Lord Kalvan leading Arrakeen
The Minutemen of Washington are meeting Omar's Saracens
And Rommel fights at Waterloo, and other weird comparisons.
But if the CRT is just a mass of puzzling cuniform,
We have some model soldiers you can paint in gaudy uniform;
If you esteem the horse and hold the infantry in low regard,
We have the dashing cavalry of Stuart, Lee, and Beauregard.
That ancient king Sennacherbib's nine hundred iron chariots,
And here's a train of wagons from King Arthur's commisariat.
A Cossak with his saber raised to smite the proletariat,
And here's a Western cowboy chasing Indians with a lariat.
The armies of Napoleon, the mighty Guard Imperial,
The surgeons who treat cannon wounds or illnesses venereal;
With cataphracts and cuirasseurs and light dragoons and skirmishers,
And Bonaparte's own battle tent, with model Empire furniture.
BRIDGE: If naval wars you like to wage, then to this pile lend your eyes,
Of model ships of every age, from galleons to the Enterprise.
Or little plastic fighter planes, a Sopwith or a Harrier;
Buy ninety model Phantom Jets and fly them from a carrier!
We've model planes and model trains and model knights like Galahad,
For D&D and S&S and PBI and Stalingrad;
We've monsters that are animal and vegetable and mineral,
And here's a little model of a modern Major General!
I met a robot from Aristarchus Rim.
It smiled because it heard me hum this tune.
And then it held out an AC power supply--
It said it was the finest on the moon.
And I said: "Oh, no no no, I don't (bzz) no more,
I'm tired of losing track of the score.
No thank you sir, it only makes me whir,
And then it makes me want a little more."
I met a robot out at Vesta Complex.
It smiled when I had come in through the lock.
And then it held out a box of silver 112--
It said it was the finest in the rock.
And I said: "Oh, no no no, I don't fry no more;
I'm tired of thinking there was a war.
No thank you friend, I'm still on the mend
From the time I tried it once before."
I met a robot from Enceladus Port.
It smiled because it had so many things.
And then it held out a dewar filled with flourine--
It said it was the finest in the rings.
And I said: "Oh, no no no, I don't (wff) no more,
I'm tired of losing track of the score.
No thank you droid, it only makes me annoyed--
It's even worse than H2SO4.
I met a robot came from Silicon Gulch.
It smiled 'cause it was happy as could be.
And then it held out a three-phase heterodyne
CMOS epitaxial IC.
(What a chip!)
And I said: "Oh, no no no, I don't live no more,
I must be losing track of the score.
Thank you my friend, let's go on a bend,
Like we'd never been on one before."
Then I said:"Oh, no no no, I don't live no more,
Not if I've forgotten what for!
Thank you my friend, let's go round the bend,
Like we'd never been around before."
optional verse
only for those who don't like their faculty advisers
I met a robot, a professor at school.
It smiled because it thought it knew it all.
And then it declared the date my thesis was due.
It said I should get started in the fall.
(Due in May.)
And I said: "Oh, no no no, I don't study no more,
I'm tired of stayin' up until four.
No thank you creep, it makes me want to sleep,
And then it doesn't let me any more."
Pore SeF is dead, pore S-F is dead,
It's lookin all so purty and so slick (and so slick).
It fits into your pocket, more a squib now than a rocket,
But we didn't think that it would die so quick (die so quick).
Pore SeF is dead, pore S-F is dead,
Just fifty years since Hugo G began it (he began it).
It might have lasted longer, for every reprint monger,
If we only could have got someone to ban it (one to ban it).
Pore SeF is dead, pore S-F is dead,
The clue is here to see where S-F bled (S-F bled).
We strangled, stabbed, and shot it, but the thing that really got it
Was the fact that S-F's lifeblood wasn't read (wasn't read). [A Pun!]
Superheroes on the hillside,
Superheroes fighting super-crooks
And they all wear funny costumes
And they all look just the same.
There's a Norse god and a moon god
And a mutant and an alien,
And they all wear funny costumes
And they all look just the same.
And the villains that the heroes fight,
Oh, they all want to rule the world
And they all have mental problems
And they all act just the same.
They use robots, and some monsters,
And a Super-Ultra-Cosmic Mutagen,
But they overlook something crucial
And they all fail just the same.
And the publishers of the comics
All want to boost their readership
And they all have plans to do this
And the plans are just the same.
There's a _Crisis_ and a _Fall of..._
And an "In this book an X-man dies!"
And they kill off half the heroes
But the plans are just the same.
The fen in today's sci-fi crowd
Are big to hear reading out loud,
So to make a name for yourself,
There are books must be on the shelf
Old Asimov and Arthur Clarke
And Niven will give you a spark,
H.G. Wells to read after dark,
And Adams is just for a lark.
But the writer of them all
Who always wrote all those fine lines
In the one the fen all call
Dear old Robert Anson Heinlein.
Brush up your Heinlein, start quoting him now
Brush up your Heinlein, and the neos you will wow.
If you are looking for an openin' line,
Take one straight from ol' Mike Valentine
If your life is too much of a mystery
Take a peek at the future history.
If affairs give to you great distress
Remember The Moon is a Harsh Mistress.
Brush up your Heinlein, and they'll listen how.
Brush up your Heinlein, start quoting him now
Brush up your Heinlein, and the neos you will wow.
If your neighbor is a pestering louse,
You just show him into the crooked house.
If truth in your words just fails to ring
Then say what Kip told the Mother Thing.
If this universe you do like the least
Try another of The Number of the Beast.
Brush up your Heinlein, and they'll listen how.
The Hunting of the Filk (snatch)
In the midst of the filk he was trying to write
In the midst of his satire so fair
A realization did give him great fright
Neither rhyme nor the meter was there
Fen want filks after midnight, filks after midnight, never go to sleep
Fen want words that delight them, words that excite them, witty not too deep
Fen want song that is gusty, singing so lusty, testing out the lungs
Fen want filks with surprises, 'til the sun rises, every song is sung
Fen want filks after midnight, filks after midnight, 'til the morning light
Fen want scansion that's perfect, absent from defect, meter must be right
Fen want rhymes that are clever, rhymes that are never, pushing our belief
Fen want meter not tricky, meter not sticky, giving them relief
There is nothing like a filksing where the fen are close to key
And the room is never boring, that is where I want to be
But before my filks are written I can't face my fellow fen
So I stay where I am sitting and keep chewing on my pen
Fen want filks after midnight, filks after midnight, lyrics by the score
Fen want songs that are dreaming, mundanes are screaming, bolting out the door
Fen want action and ballads, sagas are valid, even parody
Fen want tales of adventure, deeds you can't censure, beyond reality.
There is nothing like a hero who is confident and bold
To give the filkers lots to cheer and to keep from getting cold
But when my eyes are bleary I don't want to have to hear
Banned From Argo sung so cheery, it gets worse with every year.
Fen want filks after midnight, filks after midnight, never mind the clock
Fen want lots of all-nighters, giving the writers, lots of stuff to mock
Fen want coffee that wakes them, before sleep takes them, eyes are turning red.
Fen want people who wring out, all they can sing out, then finally go to bed.