Lord McGee

This one pretty much stands alone without explanation, except to say that the name “Lord McGee” comes from a line on an old TV show, which has just the right level of threat to it; there is no single Lord McGee, but a stupid number of Lords, Ladies, Masters and Mistresses who bloody well should know better. If I could turn bright green and eight feet tall, they’d stop bothering us. Until then, there’s the old axiom: Meddle not in the affairs of Bards, for they are subtle and quick to anger, and your name scans to Greensleeves.

[April 2007]

Here’s a newcomer come to her very first feast,
Her garb is a valiant try, at least,
Her velvet’s crushed and there’s miles of lace
But she’s here and that’s a start.
And here’s the old fart Lord McGee,
With opinions he’ll happily give for free,
Critiquing the newcomer to her face,
Politely breaking her heart.

And I watch as another one slips away;
Another lass won’t be a Queen one day.
And I wonder if raising our standards high
Is worth maybe killing them dead.
And I ought to take Lord McGee aside,
And give him advice, maybe tan his hide,
If his arrogant air didn’t leave me shy,
Then here’s what I might have said:

Lord McGee don’t make me angry:
You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.
Lord McGee don’t make me angry:
You wouldn’t like me at all.

Here’s a brand new herald who’s helping out,
On the tourney field, just having a shout,
His projection’s crap and he mangles names,
But it’s still a good first try.
And there’s McGee in his shiny helm,
To explain how we do things in this realm,
And the new boy’s there with his public shame,
Volunteered, now he wonders why.

And I watch as the light in his eyes goes dim;
We need more heralds but it won’t be him.
And I wonder if teaching the proper ways
Is worth making everyone small.
And I ought to take Lord McGee aside,
And give him advice, maybe tan his hide,
But a minute with him makes my eyes glaze,
And I might just stand and call:

Lord McGee don’t make me angry:
You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.
Lord McGee don’t make me angry:
You wouldn’t like me at all.

Here’s a blazing fire and a healthy crowd,
All singing their guts out, strong and loud,
With Gaudete and the Stickjock song
And everything in between.
And Lord McGee, with ears assaulted,
Into the circle catapulted,
Swears that we’re doing it all quite wrong,
And frequently obscene.

And I watch as some of the singers cringe,
But a few take on a darker tinge,
There’s a lot of the kingdom started here,
With a song and tale or two.
So this time I take McGee aside,
And give him advice, maybe save his hide,
“Meddle with bards, have cause to fear”
Is a warning, old and true.

And Lord McGee, he made me angry:
He didn’t like me when I’m angry.
Lord McGee, he made me angry:
He didn’t like me at all.
Lord McGee, he made me angry:
He didn’t like me when I’m angry.
Lord McGee, he made me angry…
You don’t see him around any more.