The Battle Hymn of the Fyrd The Fighter
The Markland Anthem The Heavy Infantry
The Rowing Song Light Infantry
Farewell, Mercenaries Waltzing Attila
Attila I Killed a Light
I'm a Viking Will the Shieldwall be Unbroken
Woad Up the Magic Flagon
Fighter's Song Rape and Plunder
Favorite Things A Few of my Favorite Things
Ode to Lights Men of Markland
Bored in the SCA Carrot Juice is Murder
A Grazing Mace Thank God, I'M A Norman Swine
The Birthday Dirge The Day The Abbott Died
Beowulf (Markland Style)



The Battle Hymn of the Fyrd
(Tune: The Battle Hymn of the Republic)
Markland Traditional
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the horde
The warlord lists to starboard on a dull and rusty sword
The thanes are all 'a gripin' and the wenches all look bored
And the fyrd goes stragglin' on
    We're a bunch of drunken vikings
    Mead and ale are to our liking
    We're a bunch of drunken vikings
    And the fyrd goes stragglin' on
You've seen us all 'a straggling through a hundred moors and downs
The Mongol horde rejected us as merely hopeless clowns
And all over Europe we have got the run-around
And the fyrd goes stragglin' on
    Chorus
Years before Columbus, well we sailed the ocean blue
Left a runestone in Wisconsin just to show what we can do
And now it's at the bottom of  backyard barbecue
And the Fyrd goes stragglin' on
    Chorus
We pillaged Rome and burned the dome and raised hell in the square
But the Romans didn't notice, or else they didn't care
'Til later when their kids were born with blue and blond hair
And the fyrd goes stragglin' on
    Chorus



The Markland Anthem 
Anonymous
Markland, they slimy sod
Forsook by all but God
Home of the darkest swamps
And thickets of thorn
Lo, how they mighty rocks
They break our plows asunder
Making us wish
We had never been born

Markland, they noble sons
Run from the sounds of guns
Faster than jackrabbits
And cunning as rats
They'll win the victory
And wipe out the enemy
When they can sneak up
And stab in the back

Markland, they daughters dear
Make Mongols cringe with fear
Comely as great cave bear
And stronger than ox
See them in the fields right now,
How gracefully they pull the plow
As with their dainty feet
They drop-kick the rocks

(repeat first verse, softly)

 
 
 
The Rowing Song
(Tune: Tomorrow Belongs to Me)
Markland Traditional
The wind from the Westland blows steady and strong
The osprey flies wild and free
The waves all around us reflect the dawn
Tomorrow belongs to me.

The oars of the longship flash cold in the spray
The keel; cuts its path through the sea
To conquer the land that may lie in our way
Tomorrow belongs to me.

With mail shirts around us, our swords sharp and bright
We'll watch as the enemies flee
And then on to pillage all through the night
Tomorrow belongs, tomorrow belongs, tomorrow belongs to me.

Oh, Markland, Markland, show us the sign
Your rabble are longing to see!
The morning will come when the world is mine!
Tomorrow belongs, tomorrow belongs, tomorrow belongs to me.

(repeat fourth verse)

By: Attila/ Atli Vathason, First Warlord
(Bruce Edward Blackistone)

 
 
 
Farewell, Mercenaries
(Tune: Red River Valley)
Markland Traditional
From this village they saw you are going 
We will miss your sharp swords and strong arms. 
Only how we do wish you weren't taking 
All the food we had stored on our farms. 

Won't you leave us some food for the winter? 
Do not take, we implore, with a sob, 
Or else when you arrive in the springtime 
You will find not a peasant to rob. 

You have gotten our poor daughters pregnant 
You have butchered our cattle for stew. 
Well, we hired you here to protect us 
But we needed protection from you.

By: Bill Marlow (Wilhelm Greycloak)

 
 
 
Attila
(Tune: Maria)
B. Berg & K. Girdansk
Attila is our leader who 
We'd fight and maim and kill for. 
He takes the lead and tells us where 
Our swords should splash and spill gore. 
Attila!  Attila!  Our warlord is Attila! 

He leads us where the danger is 
And then runs back for cover. 
He leaves us there to save ourselves 
While safely back he hovers. 
Attila!  Attila!  Our warlord is Attila! 

Through brightest day or darkest night 
Neither of them blind us. 
We know no matter who we fight 
Our warlord stands behind us! 
Attila!  Attila!  Our warlord is Attila! 
 

 
 
 
I'm a Viking
(Tune: Oh, Susannah!)
Markland Traditional
Oh, I come from Scandinavia 
With a helm upon my head 
And I won't be going home again 
'Til all of you are dead 
    I'm a viking 
    For that's the thing to be 
    There's no greater joy than fighting 
    For barbarians like me.
Oh, we had a raid the other night 
When everything was still 
We waited until moonrise 
And came shrieking down the hill 

The blood was running in the streets 
The women ran and screamed 
It was better fun than anyone 
Could possibly have dreamed! 

    Chorus
The loot we loaded on the ships 
Was too great to be told 
The slaves we towed on rafts behind 
For ballast we had gold 

We took home herds of cows an pigs 
We took home chests of jewels 
Why should we work when we can loot 
From futile, puny fools! 

    Chorus
Oh, we're hairy-chested fighters 
And we have no time for games 
What we don't take back home with us 
We leave behind in flames! 

So if you see a viking ship 
There's nothing you can do, 
But kiss your wife and cross yourself 
And bid the world adieu.

 
 
Woad
(Tune: Men of Harlech)
Anonymous
What's the use of wearing braces, 
Hats and spats and shoes with laces, 
Vests and coats you buy in places 
Down on Brompton road? 
What's the use of shirts of cotton 
Studs that always get forgotten. 
Such affairs are simply rotten. 
Better off with woad! 
Woad's the stuff to show men. 
Woad to scare your foeman - 
Boil it to a brilliant blue 
and rub it on your leg and your abdomen! 
Ancient Britons never hit on 
Anything as good as woad to fit on 
Neck and knees and where you sit on -- 
Tailors, you be blowed 

Romans came across the channel, 
All dressed up in tin and flannel. 
Half a pint of woad per man'll 
Clothe us more than these! 
Saxons, ye may save your stitches, 
Building bed for bugs in britches. 
We have woad to clothe us which is 
Not a nest for fleas. 
Romans, save your armor, 
Saxons, your pajamas -- 
Hairy coats were made for goats, 
Gorillas, yaks, retriever dogs, and llamas! 
So, march on Snowdon with you Woad on. 
Never mind if you get rained or snowed on. 
Never need a button sewed on -- 
Woad for us today!

 
Fighter's Song
(Tune: Delta Dawn)
by Quinn
He's forty three and he still goes to Hastings. 
His wife can't stand the money that he's wasting, 
When he hangs out at the feasts and at the wars. 
Wackin' kids with sticks and chasing wenches. 
    Hey there son, what's that helmet you have on? 
    Could it be a Freon can with foam inside? 
    Made of foam, tape, and rattan? 
    And is your armor pads Nuaga-hide?
In his younger days he fought as a light 
Now he holds the shieldwall without fright. 
'Cause a swordsman's what he is and what he'll be. 
The backbone of the heavy infantry. 
    Chorus
 
The Fighter
(Tune: The Gambler)
by Quinn
On a warm summer's evening, 
In a van bound for Markland, 
I met up with a Fighter, 
Who'd been to many wars. 

And as he slumbered lightly, 
On a mountain of equipment, 
I flipped back a pop-top, 
Which woke him from his snores. 

He said "Son I've made a lifetime, 
Outa' bashin' fighters helmets, 
And re-creatin' Ashdown, 
With my feet as cold as ice." 

"Your polyester tunic, 
Is fine for your first war, 
But for a taste of you Foster's, 
I'll give you some advice." 

So I handed him a half-quart, 
And he drained it in four swallows. 
Then he bummed some pizza 
And a couple of Moon pies. 

Then he let loose with a wet belch, 
And his face lost all expression. 
He said, "If you're doing recreation, 
You gotta learn to do it right." 
 
 
 
 
 

    (Chorus) 
    If you wear leather jackboots, 
    Fight with a rapier, 
    Black Kendo armor, 
    And a Byzantine helm, 
    You may get lots of notice 
    At battle recreations 
    But your mastery of history 
    Will leave us underwhelmed.
"Every Elder know 
That the secret to Markland 
Is striking a balance 
Between history and fun." 

"And if you can manage 
to teach the mundanes something 
while having a good time, 
Then the battle is won." 

    Chorus
And when he finished speaking 
He bummed another Foster's 
Re-arranged his armor 
And passed out like a stone. 

But somehow through his stupor 
The man had spoken wisdom. 
'Cause in his drunken ramblings 
Was advice for me to own. 

    Chorus
 
The Heavy Infantry
(Tune: The Caisson Song)
by Quinn and Tancred
Over hill, over dale, 
Lugging forty pounds of mail 
And the heavies go trudging along. 
See the grime.  Smell the sweat. 
Lord!  They haven't wised up yet! 
And the heavies go trudging along. 
    But it's Hi, Hi, Hee! 
    For the Heavy Infantry, 
    Weak minds and backs that are strong. 
    fighting heel to toe, 
    Dealing death with every blow, 
    And the heavies go trudging along.
That one's high.  That one's low. 
where the hell did that one go? 
And the heavies go trudging along. 
That one's light, that one's wide. 
That's because I've RHINO HIDE! 
And the heavies go trudging along. 
    Chorus
 
Light Infantry
(Tune: Oh, Tannenbaum)
by Quinn
Light infantry, light infantry, 
Why can't the trees be wider? 
Light infantry, light infantry, 
We need some place to hide or, 
The Heavies fell their fatal blows, 
And beat us blue from head to toes. 
Light infantry, light infantry, 
Why can't the trees be wider? 

Light infantry, light infantry, 
Defend the forest meekly. 
Light infantry, light infantry, 
Defend our honor weakly. 
We hassle you with spears and bows, 
Then scatter off, like frightened crows. 
Light infantry, light infantry, 
Defend the forest meekly.

 
Waltzing Attila
(Tune: Waltzing Matilda)
by John of Scots and Riannon of Laurasitt
Revised under adverse conditions
following the defeat in New York
ONce there was a butcher, sitting by a battlefield, 
Gazing at the bodies piled one, two, three, 
And we sang as we marched our army to the master's shield, 
We'll go a-waltzing, Attila, with thee. 
    Waltzing Attila, waltzing Attila, 
    We'll go a-waltzing, Attila, with thee. 
    And we sang as we marched our army to the master's shield, 
    We'll go a-waltzing, Attila, with thee.
Up jumped Attila with a smirk upon his face, 
"You'll never leave here alive," said he, 
And we sang as we watched him sever heads about the place, 
We'll go a-waltzing, Attila, with thee. 
    Chorus
 
I Killed a Light
(Tune: I Saw the Light)
by Quinn
I was a wanderin' lost in the brush. 
Tired and thirsty, covered with dust. 
When in a meadow, cow'ring in fright, 
I came upon a hassle of lights! 
    I killed a light, I killed a light. 
    No more backstabbing, no arrows in flight. 
    Now I'm so happy, no sorrow in sight, 
    Holy Odin, I killed a light.
They fight with arrows.  They fight with spears. 
They call the heavies the sum of their fears. 
When they awaken, afraid in the night, 
They really know, only cowards are lights. 
    Chorus
 
Will the Shieldwall be Unbroken
(Tune: Will the Circle be Unbroken)
by Quinn
Chorus: 
    Will the shieldwall be unbroken, 
    When the cavalry rides by. 
    And will Harold die on Senlac 
    With an arrow in his eye.
 
Up the Magic Flagon
(Tune: Puff the Magic Dragon)
by McCulley and Quinn
A Reeve lives on forever, but not so those who fight. 
You may have cause for argument, but a reeve is always right. 
You spend your day in dead piles, winded, sweaty, sore, 
'Til a smart-mouthed tart shall condescend, 
And you go back for more. 
    So up the magic flagon, drain off the mead, 
    Or frothy ale, both dark and pale, 
    As cold as cold can be! 
    Forget your bag of troubles, 
    And all that serious stuff. 
    We'll cure them all with alcohol, 
    If you just drink enough.
There is a henpecked husband who comes to get away 
From the awful shrew he's married to who nags him night and day. 
But little does it matter if he's not with his wife, 
For if you pinch a Markland wench, 
You're bound to catch a knife! 
    Chorus
Here's a noble hausfrau who had a dismal lot, 
Six screaming kids, a squalid house, and greasy pans and pots, 
But now she comes to Markland to lose herself in sin, 
And when the meadhall opens 
Her therapy begins. 
    Chorus
 
Rape and Plunder
(Tune: Frere Jacques)
by Boden Rex
Rape and plunder, rape and plunder, 
Burn the house, burn the house, 
Slaughter all the menfolk, slaughter all the menfolk, 
Steal the cows, steal the cows.
 
 
Favorite Things
by Boden Rex and McCulley
Hacking and slashing and maiming and killing, 
Heads that are broken and guts that are spilling, 
Knocking out gold teeth and cutting off rings, 
These are a few of my favorite things. 
    When the sword bites, when the dart stings, 
    When I'm feeling sad, 
    I simply remember my favorite things 
    And then I don't feel so bad.
Drawing my longbow and shooting from safety, 
Running from heavies who can't overtake me, 
Smooth-flying arrows, swift death on the wing, 
These are a few of my favorite things! 
    Chorus
 
A Few of my Favorite Things
by Quinn
Feasting and dancing with Vikings and wenches, 
Long groaning feast tables and fat rumps on benches, 
A great hall that's merry from autumn 'til spring, 
these are a few of my favorite things! 
    When the wolf howls, when the fjords freeze, 
    When we're feeling sad, 
    We simply remember our favorite things, 
    And then we don't feel so bad!
Tales by the hearth about evil Hrinthurses, 
Skalds by the dozens with hundreds of verses, 
Chanted by bards who taught Odin to sing, 
These are a few of my favorite things! 
    Chorus
Embroidering tunics and dresses and aprons, 
Munching on hard cheese and smoked ham and capons, 
Freezing our cider to give it some zing, 
These are a few of my favorite things! 
    Chorus
Inlaying axeheads with golden rune blazing, 
Honing my sword 'til it cuts like a razor, 
Polishing helmets and banging out dings, 
these are a few of my favorite things! 
    Chorus
 
Ode to Lights
(Tune: Ode to Joy)
by Boden Rex
Wooden sticks and foam and duct tape
Beat us all about the head. 
Makes our ears ring and our joints ache, 
Makes us wish we'd stayed in bed. 
Freon cans with holes drilled right through them, 
Foam put into them, stripes of red. 
Holy shit, here come the heavies! 
God have mercy, we're all dead. 

Golly, how I love to kill lights, 
Love to watch them bleed to death, 
Fills my heart with joy and wonder, 
Even takes away my breath. 
Grab my mace and bash in their faces, 
Kill three or four and then six more. 
this is how God wants it to be 
I'm the heavy infantry! 

Archers make ignoble foemen, 
Shoot at you and run away. 
Goddam mother-fucking bowmen! 
They're the ones I love to slay. 
run and chase them, catch them and mace them, 
Mix them and spread them like pate. 
god put archers here to bug me, 
Jeez, I wish they'd go away.

 
Men of Markland
(Tune: Men of Harlech)
The White Paper
Men of Markland in the hollow, 
Hear ye not like rushing billow, 
Wave on wave that surging follow 
Battle's fearsome sound 
'Tis the tread of Skadian foemen, 
Skadian spearmen, Skadian bowmen. 
Be they king or duke or yeoman, 
They shall bite the ground! 
Markland stop your prattle, 
Form your lines for battle, 
Freemen brave shall ne'er be slave 
And men shall not be driven off like cattle. 
Men of Markland young and hoary, 
Would ye win a name in story? 
Fight for home, for lofe, for glory, 
Freedom, Gods and right! 

Hark, I hear their host advancing, 
Barbed steeds are gaily prancing, 
Helmets in the sunlight glancing 
Glitter through the trees. 
See the Skadian foe before us, 
Spearshafts cluster like a forest, 
While their warsong'd confused chorus 
Hums like swarms of bees. 
Thor!  They must have thousands, 
while we number dozens, 
But courage will defeat them still, 
If we but hold our formations. 
Onward, 'tis Attila needs us. 
He is bravest, he who leads us 
Honor's self is he who redes us, 
"Freemen never yield." 

"We'll not die, be conquered never, 
Markland, Markland lives forever. 
Freedom's form the greatest giver. 
Onward, take the field!" 
See Marklanders shouting run down, 
From their hillsides they do come down, 
Like a storm which breaks at sundown, 
Beating on their shields. 
Recklessness has made them 
Break their stout formation 
Shieldwall strong they have forgone 
To charge into the foemen and perdition! 
Sword is met by sword replying 
Steel by steel on strength relying 
See where Attila's flag is flying 
Drenched in foemen's blood. 

"Mid the fray, see dead and dying, 
Friend and foe together lying 
All around the arrows flying 
Scatter sudden death. 
Frightened steeds are wildly neighing 
Brazen trumpets hoarsely playing 
Wounded men for mercy praying 
With their dying breath. 
Strands of life are riven 
Blow for blow is given. 
In deadly lock or battle shock 
The stench of sweat 'n' blood goes up to heaven. 
Men of Markland, stand ye, stand ye, 
Let no man a nithling brand ye, 
Death is glory now! 

Men of Markland in the hollow 
You were dumb enough to follow, 
All those words of glory swallow, 
Now let's turn around! 
Wings of Sae Garn let us borrow 
To forestall our widow's sorrow 
If you'd like to see tomorrow, 
Better give some ground! 
Flee now in disorder 
Back across the border 
Run!  Your craven lives to save, 
And next time let's try to keep close order 
Men of Markland, it's quite true 
Retreating is not nice to do 
but at least it let's you live to 
Fight another day!

 
 
 

BORED IN THE SCA 
(Tune: Born in the USA) 
by various Marklanders
BORED in the SCA! 
Oh, I'm a LORD in the SCA! 

I use "Prince Valiant" for historical sources! 
I'm a knight, but where are the horses?! 
Bright colors and panty hose! 
Polyester from my head to my toes! 

Oh, I am BORED in the SCA! 
Yes, I am BORED in the SCA! 

Over there's a Samurai, I think, 
Must because of the fishy stink! 
I'm a King in Fantasyland, 
Don't fight with steel, I use bare rattan! 

Oh, I am BORED in the SCA! 
Joined the HORDE in the SCA! 

Now I can rape and pillage and burn 
Goon the jerks that never learn! 
Looks like ( insert name of choice ) is here! 
Hide the chickens, and dogs and beer! 

I was BORED in the SCA! 
I was BORED in the SCA! 
Joined the HORDE in the SCA! 
Fight another day!

 
 
 

Carrot Juice Is Murder 
by The Arrogant Worms

Listen up Brothers and Sisters
Come hear my desperate tale
I speak of our friends of nature
Trapped in the dirt like a jail

Vegetables live in oppresion
served on our tables each night
This killing of veggies is madness
I say we take up the fight

Salads are only for murderers
Kole-slaw a facist regeime
Don't think that they don't have feelings
Juse cause a raddish can't scream

Chours: I've heare the screams of the vegetables
(Screams, screams, screams)
Watching thier skins being peeled
(Having thier insides revealed)
Ridded and steamed without mercy
(Burning off calories)
How do you think that feals
(Bet it hurts really bad)
Carrot Juice constitutes murder
(And that's a real crime)
Greenhouse a prison for slaves
(Let my vegetables go)
It's time to stop all this gardening
(It's dirty as hell)
Let's call a spade a spade
(Is a spade, is a spade, is a spade)

I saw a man eating celery
So I beat him black and blue
If he ever touches a sprout again
I'll bite him clean in two

Im a political prisoner
Trapped in a windowless cage
Cause I stopped the slaughter of turnips
By killing five men in a rage

I told the judge when he sentenced me
This is my finest hour
I'd kill those farmers again
Just to save one more cauliflower

Chours:
I've heare the screams of the vegetables
(Screams, screams, screams)
Watching thier skins being peeled
(Having thier insides revealed)
Ridded and steamed without mercy
(Burning off calories)
How do you think that feals
(Bet it hurts really bad)
Carrot Juice constitutes murder
(And that's a real crime)
Greenhouse a prison for slaves
(Let my vegetables go)
It's time to stop all this gardening
(It's dirty as hell)
Let's call a spade a spade
(Is a spade, is a spade, is a spade)

How low as people do we dare to stew
Making young broccolies bleed in the soup
Untie your beans,
Uncage your tomatoes,
Let potted plants free,
Don't mash that potato

Whoa... whoa... whoa...

Chourus: I've heare the screams of the vegetables
(Screams, screams, screams)
Watching thier skins being peeled
(Those in the stir fry are sealed) ?
ridded and steamed without mercy
(You fat gourmet scum)
How do you think that feals
(Leave them out in the fields)
Carrot Juice constitutes murder
(Be-ets genocide) ?
Greenhouse a prison for slaves
(Yes your composts are grey) ?
It's time to stop all this gardening
(Take up macrome)
Let's call a spade a spade
(Is a spade, is a spade, is a spade)


A Grazing Mace 
by Unknown
A grazing mace, how sweet the sound
That flattens a wretch like thee.
Whose head now flat, that once was round,
Done in by my mace and me.

A grazing mace, how sweet the sound.
That smites a foe like thee.
You're lying there upon the ground,
You've left the field to me.


Thank God, I'M A Norman Swine 
by Edouard Du Nord
Oh I live on a fortified mound with a ditch,
All my Saxon peasants do is bitch, bitch, bitch.
Life ain't easy even though I'm rich,
Thank God, I'm a Norman swine.

Well I go to fight wars for my swinish king,
My peasants sit around and they don't do a thing.
I'll bang their Saxon heads 'til they ring, ring, ring,
Thank God, I'm a Norman swine.

Well, I got me some rocks, think I'll build me a castle,
Get some more slaves, and a lot more cattle.
Life ain't nothin' but an uphill battle,
Thank God, I'm a Norman swine.

I'll chase through the woods for a runaway serf,
I'll bring him back in chains and I'll drag him through the turf.
Work him 'til he drops, then drop him in the earth,
Thank God, I'm a Norman swine.

I always push religion and clerics and things,
Down on your knees and you kiss'em on their rings,
I gather church tithes and the angels sing,
Thank God, I'm a Norman swine.


The Birthday Dirge 
by --Unknown (Tune: "Volga Boatmen")
Try to learn at least four or five. (There are more 200 known verses.)

Chorus:
Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!

Now you've aged another year
Now you know that Death is near.

Long ago your hair turned Grey
Now it's falling out, they say.

Children dying far and near
They say that cancer's caused by beer.

Burn the castle and storm the keep
Kill the women, but save the sheep.

May the candles on your cake
Burn like cities in your wake.

They say the Plague has struck your town
You yourself feel quite run-down.

Now that you're the age you are
Your demise cannot be far.

Burn, then rape by firelight
Add_romance_to life tonight.

We love children, yes we do
Baked or broiled or in a stew.

Indigestion's what you get
From the enemies you 'et.

Birthdays come but once a year
Marking time as Death draws near.

Doom and gloom and dark despair
People dying everywhere!

Now another year has passed
Don't look now they're gaining fast!

Were I sitting in your shoes
I'd go out and sing the blues.

Your servants steal, your wife's untrue
Your children plot to murder you.

See the wrinkles on your face
Like the pattern of fine lace.

They stole your sword, your gold, your house
Took your sheep but not your spouse.

Now your jail-bait days are done
Let's go out and have some fun.

You must marry very soon
Baby's due the next full moon.

Now you've lived another year
Age to you is like stale beer.

This one lesson you must learn
First you pillage, then you burn.

We brought linen, white as a cloud
Now we'll sit and sew your shroud.

May your deeds with sword and axe
Equal those with sheep and yaks.

So you're 29 again
Don't tell lies to your good friend.

When you've reached this age you know
That the mind is first to go.

Just be glad the friends you've got
Haven't found out you-know-what.

While you eat your birthday stew
We will loot the town for you.


The Day The Abbott Died 
by --Liaden O'Sieghn (Ruth A Codling)
(To the tune of "American Pie" by Don McLean)
A long, long time ago
I can still remember how the thought of battle made me smile
And I noticed at a glance
These people didn't have a chance
For they were only numbered seven strong
The thought of battle made me shiver
As I checked the arrows in my quiver
A reeve stood up and called out
The way things should be fought out
I can't remember how I died
As I sat and nursed my wounded pride
And watched the battle from the side
The day the Abbott died

*chorus*
So High, high into battle we fly
Grab your sword and grab your shield and kiss your family good bye
When battles over we'll be drinkin' our wine
Singin wasn't this a great day to die?
Wasn't this a great day to die?

Did you right directions down?
And do you know where inside this town
A campground and a battle be
Do you believe what's been foretold?
Can fighting damn your mortal soul?
Only gainst the Catholic Church of old
Well tomorrow morn the fight begins
I can tell form all these drunken grins
Armor strewn across the floor
Duct tape hanging from the door
I was a lonely little teenaged punk
With a thirst for fighting and a friend named Duck
Thought maybe I might have some luck
The day the Abbott died

*chorus*

Now for some time reeves had called a hold
While we all stood there growing old
Wondering what the call would be
An archer aimed for the king and queen
Making no attempt to stay unseen
With arrows that I think belonged to me
Oh while the king was looking round
The archer tried to take him down
That archer he was bold
Till the reeves lifted the hold
He loosed his arrow, it sailed high
Right o'er our heads into the sky
Then was the archers turn to fly
The day the Abbott died

*chorus*

Helter, skelter in an autumn swelter
Got no place to run for shelter
From arrows that were falling fast
They landed round us on the grass
The heathens pushed in to try and pass
With the archers in the back ranks shooting past
The end of battle seemed in sight
But those churchmen all stayed in the fight
Again we tried to pass
Oh, but we never got the chance
The heathens tried to claim the field
The Abbott's group refused to yield
Do you recall the numbers killed?
The day the Abbott died

*chorus*

There we were all in one space
A group of heathens held in place
With battle coming to an end
So come on grab your pole arm grab your shield
Get your ass out on that field
Cause fightin's only over if your dead
And as I watched them on the field
I knew that they would never yield
I guess it's just as well
Since we'd all been damned to hell
As the sun climbed higher into the sky
The body count was on the rise
Us heathens must've had it right
The day the Abbott died

*chorus*

I left the field my hide was bruised
And there was mud inside my shoes
But I was smiling anyway
I pondered how my day'd been spent
As I dragged my gear back to my tent
Decided it had been a glorious day
Though later on they'll be a feast
Right now I couldn't care the least
I wish I could be soakin'
But the showers here are broken
And the two men who had called this host
The two men who had fought the most
They turned, shook hands, and drank a toast
The day the Abbott died

*chorus twice*


Beowulf 
by --Barchan
I will tell ye a little story
and I hope it doesn't bore ye
All about King Hrothgar and his problem with the neighbors.
He built a meadhall, a mighty meadhall,
so great that it could seat and feed all.
Both hall and he were horney so they called it Heorot.

It was the finest in the land and it was built by Hrothgar's band
All of Denmark could be proud, as it could hold a hell of a crowd.

They had a party, an over-nighter
they tried to see who could get tighter.
Everybody passed out; then the hall got somewhat quieter.
Then old Grendel came a calling.
He left the women bawling.
He helped himself to Danish in the hall called Heorot.

This Grendel was a scaley guy. His looks could make a mother cry.
His mom was old and sort of blind and she never seemed to mind.

He went often to fill his belly. He must have thought it was a deli.
He was a messy eater and it started getting smelly.
Then, throughout the Danish nation, there was sent an invitation
to inexpensive lodgings in the hall called Heorot.

The heroes came from far and near. At first they filled the hall with cheer.
When Grendel tore them limb from limb, the heroes ranks became quite slim.

They tried to fight him, tried to smite him; but their weapons would not bite him.
Hrothgar finally granted Grendel's hide must be enchanted.
With the death of the last hero, applications dropped to zero.
So membership restrictions were relaxed at Heorot.

Then, from far across the swan-road came King Hegelac's most vicious thane.
He was the son of Ectheo, so he did not have to row.
He was Swedish, he was Geatish. He was strongish, he was greatish.
Dressed rather more like Markland as opposed to SCA-ish.
They saw meaning in his arrival, such as possible survival.
Thus Beowulf the hero was announced at Heorot.