Song: Silent Night (with apologies to Franz Gruber, though actually, he should apologise to me, because I’ve sung that song more times than anyone should ever have to)

Silent night, holy night,
Choir is calm, voices bright
Sops ethereal, tenors with flair
Audible altos and basses to spare
Sing this heavenly piece
Sing this heavenly piece

Silent night, holy night,
Voices break, sounding tight;
A capella was fine at the start
But now the altos have lost all heart
And where has the tenor gone?
Where has the tenor gone?

Silent night, holy night,
One verse left – end’s in sight!
Pastor calls us a heavenly choir
But each verse ends just a little bit higher…
Squeaking, Lord, of thy birth,
Squeaking, Lord, of thy birth,

Silent night, holy night
Almost done, hearts are light!
Basses bellow, but oh, so slow…
No conductor can help us now
At last, it’s over and done!
Finally over and done…

The Flying Duckman (with apologies to A. P. Ryder)

Inspired by this article about a flotilla of plastic bath ducks roaming free through the Arctic Ocean

Who hath seen the Phantom Ducks,
Riding the waves in rubber flocks,
Careering o’er the lonesome main
No bath shall know their squeak again.
But how about the scholar’s plight
Who forever tracks these ducks in flight
Currents to map, for ends unknown
And reason hath it ever flown
Or to vigil strange and long
Does a sort of joy belong…
And one absurdity into another flows
As onward the strange armada goes.
But no, Hark! Quack! Quack Rubber duckies cry,
Quack; Quack, on that sea they fly;
Ah, watching here in awed delight,
Ducks, frogs and beavers ever bright
Journey on across the watery deep
To land in Canada and sleep…

Song: The Universal Filker (with apologies to Donovan)

To be sung to the tune of the Universal Soldier, by Donovan

She’s five foot-two and she’s six feet-four
She writes with reason and with rhyme
She filches folk-song tunes, and she writes new melodies
Been a filker for a long, long time…

She’s an Alto, Soprano, a tenor and a bass
A rapper, a jazz singer, out of tune
And she knows she shouldn’t pun
But she knows it’s too much fun
To pun openly or poor puns impugn

And she’s writing ‘bout politics
She’s writing ‘bout cats
She’s writing ‘bout the S.C.A
And she’s writing ‘bout computers
And she’s writing about fruit
And she thinks it doesn’t count as filk this way…

And she’s writing about Bujold
She’s writing ’bout Star Trek
She’s writing about Lackey and Heinlein
And she’s writing about Asimov, she’s writing about Wrede
And she never knows just where to draw the line…

But without her, how would Star Trek’s fleet be banned from Argo’s shores?
Without her, Greensleeves would be left alone
She’s the one who gives her lyrics
For our laughter and our tears
And without her all this filking can’t go on

She’s the universal filker, and she really is to blame
Her ideas come from far away no more
They come from here and there and you and me,
And brothers can’t you see,
This is just what bright, creative minds are for…

Song: Greensleeves will be your bane (with apologies to Henry VIII. Maybe.)

(inspired by the comment: “Do not meddle in the affairs of filkers, for they are subtle and can make your name scan to Greensleeves”, and the response that Greensleeves wasn’t a song, so much as a musical virus…)

Alas, my love, you did me wrong,
You cast me off discourteously.
Now I will mock you with a song,
Avenge myself with poetry.

Greensleeves will be your bane
Greensleeves will go round your head,
Greensleeves you will hear again,
And your name will scan to greensleeves.

My voice has broken, like my heart,
Oh, why did you so enrapture me?
Now I remain in a world apart
But my song remains to annoy thee.

Greensleeves will be your bane
Greensleeves will go round your head
Greensleeves you will hear again,
As our story scans to greensleeves…

My words were sharp, my verses stung,
My poet’s vengeance pursued thee;
But everywhere this song is sung,
All other tunes elude me

Greensleeves has been your bane
Greensleeves went round your head
Greensleeves you have heard again,
For everything scans to greensleeves…

My soul I bartered for this song
And my artistic integrity
‘Twas repetitious and too long
And far too catchy for poetry…

Greensleeves was heard in lifts
Greensleeves from ice-cream vans
Greensleeves in shopping malls,
It’s really not hard to play greensleeves…

This song is getting out of hand,
The verses run interminably,
There is no place in all the land,
That’s free of that endless melody.

Greensleeves is now my bane
Greensleeves goes round my head
Greensleeves I cannot escape,
For everything sounds like greensleeves…

Well, I will pray to God on high,
That he my tragedy mayst see,
And that yet soon before I die,
He wilt take this song from me.

Greensleeves has been my bane
Greensleeves has filled my head
Greensleeves is everywhere,
There’s no escape from greensleeves…

Ah, Greensleeves, now farewell, begone,
To God I pray to escape thee,
These verses, have run on and on
Take pity, now, and leave me.

Greensleeves has been my bane
Greensleeves has filled my head
Greensleeves has sent me mad,
There is no song but greensleeves…

Missing (with apologies to A.A. Milne)

Has anybody seen my boss?

I opened his office for half a minute,
Just to make sure he was really in it,
But the Professor was not inside!
I tried to find him, I tried, I tried…
He must be somewhere – I’m at loss.
Has anyone seen my boss?

Registrar, have you seen my boss?

Just a workaholic boss, a frequently stressed one.
He’s not good at resting, he’s quite an obsessed one,
So he’ll feel all bored on a Qantas flight;
Why, what could he possibly find to write?

He must be somewhere. I’ll ask the ward:
Have you seen a boss looking rather bored?
Oh, somewhere about –
He’s just got out…

Hasn’t anybody seen my boss?

Song: Give Peach a Chance (with apologies to John Lennon)

Ev’rybody’s talkin’ ’bout
Grapefruit and Passionfruit, Breadfruit with Jamfruit and Picklefruit, Kiwifruit
Jackfruit and Nipplefruit*, Chocolate Puddingfruit**
All we are saying is give peach a chance
All we are saying is give peach a chance
Ev’rybody’s talkin’ ’bout
Pineapples, Pond apples, Love-apples and Crabapples,
Walnuts, Chestnuts, Pinenuts and Peanuts, this is just nuts…
All we are saying is give peach a chance
All we are saying is give peach a chance
(Let me tell you now)
Ev’rybody’s talkin’ ’bout
Loganberries, Boysenberries, Pepperberries, Elderberries, Farkleberries***,
Sunburst cherries, yellow cherries, sour cherries, morello cherries
A ll we are saying is give peach a chance
All we are saying is give peach a chance
Ev’rybody’s talkin’ ’bout
Nectarines, Pomegranates, Persimmons,
Oranges and Avocadoes, Strawberries and
Bananas and Sierra Plums and Smyrna Quinces and Red Guava
Red Strawberry Guava…
All we are saying is give peach a chance
All we are saying is give peach a chance

*no, I didn’t make that up, I found it on the rare fruit site, if you don’t believe me….
**no, I didn’t make that one up either….
*** no, not that one either

It should scan exactly the same as the better-known song to the same tune, by John Lennon.  Or is that John Lemon?