As a prize in the Rowany Festival Fighter Auction Prize Tourney (FFAPT!) I offered a “poet voucher”, which a certain dancing viscountess picked up. She commissioned a filk song (honest!) about herself. The result was somewhat risque, but she liked it. The tune is Don’t Stand So Close To Me by the Police.
[1997?]
Young toyboys the object of Lady’s energies:
She strains them so badly, she leaves them on their knees.
Beside her, strong young men wear out and fall apart;
She’s marking your performance: you must be strong of heart.
She moves, she moves so, she moves so perfectly.
She moves, she moves so, she moves so perfectly.
Her men are so lucky, oh what a way to die!
Sometimes it’s worth crash-landing if first you touch the sky.
Temptation, frustration, she might be worth the chance;
Bright moonlight, she’s waiting, now is the time to dance.
All night by dim lamp light, the himbos try and try;
All night in her campsite, old men need not apply.
It’s no use, she’ll see you, you’ll start to shake and sweat;
Just eat up your oysters, you might survive this yet!