Sources for IC songs and poems

[ChukchiDog]

The following is a poem called "The Whole Load", by contemporary cowboy poet Waddie Mitchell. It's what I used for Gildan's poem at the recent festival, adapted to fit Hala/Ysgard. I've always thought it was funny, and I thought it would fit the situation:

The Whole Load


In a western town in the days of old,

“Fore the mines closed down for the lack of gold,

The folks there seized opportunity

An’ built a right smart community.

They built ‘em a school where the R’s were taught,

An’ the built them a church on a corner lot;

The painted her white, with a steeple high

To greet townfolks as they’s passin’ by.



They had ‘em a sheriff, a judge an’ a mayor,

But they needed a preacher to make things square.

So they sent back east, as was the general rule.

An’ hired one fresh from divinity school.

When Sunday come he was all decked out

To preach his sermon, whisper and shout.

But when he stepped out to the podium,

It was all too obvious that no one come.


‘Cept one old cowboy in a pew back there,

in his Sunday shirt an’ his greased-down hair.

He sat there quiet, just watched the floor,

With a ‘ccasional glance towards the church’s door.

Time stood still for the longest while,
Till the preacher coughed an’ faked a smile:

“Guess we could try again next week.”

But emotions reigned; he could hardly speak.



His demeanor was that of a scolded pup,

He turned to leave when ol’ Jake spoke up:

“Hold on there, Parson, it taint your fault,

an’ them thar doors ain’t like no vault,

“Cuz thar ain’t no locks for to keep folks out”

An’ if you don’t preach now, Satan’s won the bout.

Now if I was t’haul out a whole load of hay,

An’ only one cow showed, she’d get feed that day.”





Well, this preachin’ man, in the last few days,

Found it hard to cope with the western ways.

But he figured as how he’d found his call

From this profound man with his western drawl,

So he fixed his collar an’ he stood up straight

And commenced to expound on the pearly gates;

And he shocked himself at his own recall

Of the book we waved, chapter, verse an’ all.



It was God’s Almighty omnipotent power

That he lectured on for near and hour,

Then the wages of sin, an’ the hells’ brim fire;

An’ he didn’t weaken an’ he didn’t tire,

He was jumpin’ an’ screamin’ and poundin’ the floor,

When he noticed ol’ Jake weren’t awake anymore.

Now, this made him mad, and he stomped to the pew;

He shook Jake’s shoulder an’ he said, “I’m not through.



“You’re the one told me ‘bout the cow getting’ fed,

An’ here you’re a-actin’ like you’re home in bed.”

“You’re right there, Preach, ‘bout the things I told you;

If I’d a load of hay it would still stand true:

That cow would get fed, ‘tis the cowboy’s code—

But I wouldn’t feed her the whole durn load.”

[ambrosia]

hey Gildan.. would you mind posting up the "edited" version so that people who weren't there could read it too? I thought you did a great job adapting it to Ysgard.

[ChukchiDog]

Here's the adapted version:

The Whole Load


In a town like this in the days of old,

According to what the Skalds have told,

The folks there seized opportunity

An’ built a right smart community.

They built ‘em a market, and homes and shops,

But something was missing so they didn't stop

Till they'd built a temple with a tower high

To greet townfolks as they’s passin’ by.



They had ‘em a sheriff, a judge an’ a mayor,

But they needed a cleric to make things square.

So they thought about it and they looked around.

An’ a young man from Bastion they finally found.

When the big day come he was all decked out

To preach his sermon, whisper and shout.

But when he stepped out to the podium,

It was all too obvious that no one come.

 

‘Cept one old farmer in a seat back there,

in his best tunic an’ his greased-down hair.

He sat there quiet, just watched the floor,

With a ‘ccasional glance towards the temple door.

Time stood still for the longest while,

Till the preacher coughed an’ faked a smile:

“Guess we could try again next week.”

But emotions reigned; he could hardly speak.

 

His demeanor was that of a scolded pup,

He turned to leave when the farmer spoke up:

“Hold on there, Cleric, it taint your fault,

an’ them thar doors ain’t like no vault,

“Cuz thar ain’t no locks for to keep folks out”

An’ if you don’t preach now, Evil’s won the bout.

Now if I was t’haul out a whole load of hay,

An’ only one cow showed, she’d get feed that day.”

 

Well, this preachin’ man, in the last few days,

Found it hard to cope with the Hala ways.

But he figured as how he’d found his call

From this profound man with his quiet drawl,

So he stood up straight and looked up from the floor

And commenced to expound like never before;

The tales he told were of the Aesir

Of Odin and Loki and Baldur and Tyr.

 

It was the Aesir's might and wisdom and power

That he lectured on for near an hour

Then the Giants' war, an’ Hel's grim fire;

An’ he didn’t weaken an’ he didn’t tire,

He was jumpin’ an’ screamin’ and poundin’ the floor,

When he saw the old man weren’t awake anymore.

Now, this made him mad, and he knew what to do;

He stomped over there an’ he said, “I’m not through!

 

“You’re the one told me ‘bout the cow getting’ fed,

An’ here you’re a-actin’ like you’re home in bed.”

The old man who'd awoke with a start of surprise

Just nodded and said with a spark in his eyes:

“You’re right there, Preach, ‘bout the things I told you;

If I’d a load of hay it would still stand true:

That cow would get fed, ‘tis the farmer’s code—

But I wouldn’t feed her the whole durn load!”