Filksongs for All

All Lyrics by Karen  Johnson.

If you want to use them, sing them or spread them around, feel free,
but please don't forget to give me the credit!

The Redshirt's Song / All Through the Night / The Con-Runner's Song
The Eight Days of Christmas / Ode to Asimov

The Redshirt's Song ('98)

(Sung to the tune of Jingle Bells)

Kirk beams down to the planet
With a Redshirt armed to kill
He still looks rather nervous -
I hope he's made a will.
Up pops a hostile mob
Shoots the Redshirt in the head
Says Kirk, 'Send another Redshirt down
This first one's rather dead!'

Oh! Don't send me! Don't send me!
I'm not disposable!
Could you please send someone else
My schedule's rather full.
Oh! Don't send me! Don't send me
The danger's much too high
I've got a wife and kids back home
I'm far too young to die!

Whenever Kirk's in charge
It always goes the same
The Redshirt winds up dead
But nobody's to blame.
I'm afraid we've had enough
So you can take a hike
Until you can promise we'll come back alive
We're going out on strike!

Oh! Don't send me! Don't send me! etc.
 

All through the Night

(A Buffy Filk)
Tune Ė All through the Night

Hush my love, donít heed the screaming
All through the night.
Through the mists the hordes come streaming
All through the night.
 Swords and knives will not defend thee
ĎGainst these foes searching to rend thee
Best seek out Church Sanctuary
All through the night.

See the Vampire, teeth aígleaming
All through the night.
Garlic sets your eyes aístreaming,
All through the night.
Keep your crossbow armed and ready,
Stakes and crosses arenít that heavy,
Better hope your aim is steady
All through the night.

People running, people screaming,
All through the night.
All the townís with Demons teeming,
All through the night.
Fill those vials with holy water
Splashing them round freely oughta
Keep those undead ghouls from slaughter
All through the night.
 

The Con-Runnerís Song

Tune Ė The Banana Boat Song
In a Calypso style

We work all day to run the Con
Monday come we donít want to go home!
Nighttime is to party on,
Monday come we donít want to go home!
Uh oh, U-uuuh oh,
Security Guard say we got to go home [NOW! - spoken]

Childrenís Programs donít run themselves
Monday come, we donít want to go home!
Wish I had some little elves
Monday come, we donít want to go home!
Uh oh, U-uuuh oh,
Cleanup time makes me wanna go home [NOW!]

Itís nearly twelve when the filk room I hit
Monday come, we donít want to go home!
Along comes the Guard in a little bit,
Monday come, we donít want to go home!
Uh oh, U-uuuh oh,
Security Guard say we got to go home [NOW!]
Uh oh, U-uuuh oh,
Security Guard say we got to go home [Not in five minutes Ė NOW!]
Uh oh, U-uuuh oh,
Security Guard say we got to go home [Right now or Iím calling the cops!]
 

The Eight Days of Christmas

And if you can't figure out which tune this goes to, I don't know why you're reading it :-)
NOTE: watch the last line - it's a little tricky to fit in. Slow the first bit down, then continue as usual from the numbers.

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,
a Horta with fa-a-mily.
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,
Two Betazoids, and a Horta with fa-a-mily.
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,
Three Klingons fighting, Two Betazoids, and a Horta with fa-a-mily.
On the Fourth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,
Four Ferengi haggling, Three Klingons fighting, Two Betazoids, and a Horta with fa-a-mily.
On the Fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,
Five Orion Dancing Girls!
Four Ferengi haggling, Three Klingons fighting, Two Betazoids, and a Horta with fa-a-mily.
On the Sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,
Six Tribbles purring, Five Orion Dancing girls! Four Ferengi haggling, Three Klingons fighting, Two Betazoids, and a Horta with fa-a-mily.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,
Seven Sehlats growling, Six Tribbles purring, Five Orion Dancing girls! Four Ferengi haggling, Three Klingons fighting, Two Betazoids, and a Horta with fa-a-mily.
On the eighth day of Christmas, I told my true love to get lost
Because Iíd had more than enough!
So He took back his Seven Sehlats growling, Six Tribbles purring, Five Orion Dancing girls! Four Ferengi haggling, Three Klingons fighting, Two Betazoids, and the Horta with fa-a-mily!
 

Ode to Asimov

Tune: Lord of the Dance

He wrote of the morning when the world was begun
He wrote of the moon and the stars and the sun
He wrote of the heavens, and he wrote of the Earth,
And psychohistory had its birth.

So read him, wherever you may be,
For he was the Lord of SF you see,
And much he wrote may eventually come to be,
But probably not psychohistory.

He wrote of the planet where the sky turned black,
And after that there was no turning back,
He invented robotics and he wrote three laws,
He wrote prolifically without a pause.

So read him...

He wrote science-fiction, and he wrote science fact,
For an audience his work has never lacked,
He wrote books for adults, and for kids as well
He seemed to have a million stories to tell.

So read him...

He wrote of the robot who learned how to lie,
Of the robot artist who yearned at last to die,
Robot detectives on the Planet Dawn,
His Foundation saga went on and on [SPOKEN - and on, and on, and on...]

So read him...

He wrote tales of sorrow, and he wrote of joy,
He wrung our hearts with the ugly little boy,
He died in 93, now alas he's gone,
But as long as there's an audience his work lives on!

So read him... {Chorus twice}
 


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