The very model of a Bronze Age despot deity

The very model of a Bronze Age despot deity

          To the tune of “A Modern Major-General”

 

 

He is the very model of a Bronze Age despot deity

With imprecations animal and rock and plant and air, you see

He is the king of kings and he provokes some fights historical

From Jericho to Meggido, by methods categorical;

He’s very well acquainted, too, with matters theological,

He understands poetics, both the sane and the illogical,

About how to be ethical he says you’ve got a lot to see,

(lot to see, lot to see, lot to see..? Aha!)

With many cheerful facts about the uses of hypocrisy.

He’s very good at unifying and divisive politics

He knows the thaumateurgic names of angels and their little tricks;

In short in matters animal and rock and plant and air, you see

He is the very model of a Bronze Age despot deity.

         

 

 

The Weird Old Witches

          The Weird Old Witches

          To the tune of, “We’re the I.W.W.” by Leslie Fish

 

          Chorus:

We’re still weird, we’re still weird;

82 our years and more, and we’re still weird.

 

The Grand Inquisitor is gone; we’re still weird

Crusading kings have too passed on; we’re still weird

          (Chorus.)

 

Not so young as we used to be; but we’re still weird

Still out to getcha, wait and see; we’re still weird

          (Chorus.)

 

We have skills the poor can use; we’re still weird

We will teach them where we choose; we’re still weird

          (Chorus.)

 

War and peace have come and gone; we’re still weird

Still just keep on keeping on; we’re still weird

          (Chorus.)

 

We’re the W.O.W.; we’re still weird

And to this day we trouble you; we’re still weird

          (Chorus.)

 

Time has made us hard to kill; we’re still weird

Through all things, surviving still; we’re still weird

          (Chorus.)

The Ballad of Miss Mary Jane

     The Ballad of Miss Mary Jane

          To the tune of “The Ballad of John Barleycorn”

 

 

There were three men came out to the West

Their fortunes for to find

And these three men made a solemn vow:

That Mary Jane must die!

 

They harrowed, they plowed, they planted her in

Threw clods upon her head;

And these three men made a solemn oath:

That Mary Jane was dead!

 

They let her lie for a very long time

‘Til the rains from Heaven did fall

And then Lady Jane sprung up her head

And so did amaze them all.

 

They let her stand ‘til mid-summer day

And she looked both bushy and frayed;

And then Lady Jane grew a thick, thick bud

And so become a maid.

 

They’ve hired men with the scythes so sharp

To chop her down to die

They tied her and bound her upside-down

And left her there to dry

 

They’ve hired men with the scissors sharp

To cut her leaf from shell

And the smokers, they served her worst of all

For they cast her into Hell!

 

And that was the death of Miss Mary Jane

Yet she lived to tell the joke;

For they sealed her inside of a ziplock bag

And they called her seedless smoke.

 

And little Miss Jane and the nut-brown bowl

And the pipe filled full of grass

And little Miss Jane and the nut-brown bowl

Proved the strongest maid at last.

 

For the truckers will not haul that load

Nor the rockers sing like they’re insane

Nor the hackers write a line of code

Without a little Mary Jane.