Markland Songbook

Markland Songs

	*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*

***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)

***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.

***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! Joined the HORDE in the SCA!

Page last updated June 6, 2000

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