Gwerin Songs

Fluffy Girlies
Words by: A Fluffy Girlie
(To the tune of Bread Of Heaven/Cwm Rhodda)

We all fight for Regia Anglorum,
Trained to kill and maim and bleed.
When we charge all men will flee before us.
Fluffy girlies all are we.

Chorus
Fluffy girlies, fluffy girlies,
Fluffy girlies all are we (all are we),
Fluffy girlies all are we.

We don’t need misogynistic bastards
Talking down and making free.
He will be eviscerated shortly.
Fluffy girlies all are we.

Chorus

We might hide our pretty girly faces,
Dress in mail from neck to knees,
Still we bulge in controversial places.
Fluffy girlies all are we.

Chorus

Kit us out in gambesons to spite us,
Yet our femininity
Can’t explain why Roland’s scared to fight us.
Craven coward thus is he.

Craven coward, craven coward
Craven coward thus is he (thus is he),
Craven coward thus is he.

Roland is a curly-headed peasant.
He has no problem with breasts
Though he says they’re not authentic.
How he knows we cannot guess.

Fluffy girlies, fluffy girlies,
Fluffy girlies from Swansea (from Swansea),
Fluffy girlies from Swansea.

We All Know The Way To Morriston
Words by: Claire
(To the tune of Do You Know The Way To San Hosea?)

We all know the way to Morriston.
We’re never away long.
We won’t go wrong and lose our way.
We can all get back to Morriston.
Now we don’t have to find
The A. & E. road signs.

Navigating around Swansea,
Getting lost is easy in a car.
In a week or two you work out where you are.
We all have lots of experience
Of driving round a thousand times
While someone bleeds in abundance.

We’ve put lots of friends in Morriston.
Impaled them with an axe,
Given them thwacks over the head.
We’ve pierced an ear with a nine foot spear.
We all feel quite at home
Shattering several bones.

We’re not really all that vicious.
If we have somebody who can drive
We try to ensure that our victims survive,
And if we have a navigator
We’ll take you there with your best friend
When you have been hit with a sword.

We all know the way to Morriston.
For, when the battle’s done
And we have won and had our fun,
We take injured friends to Morriston,
So that some other day
They can come back and play.

Vikings At Seventy (m.p.h.)
Words by: Claire
(To the tune of Everything I Do (I Do It For You) by Bryan Adams)

Please look at the road.
Don’t crash your car.
Isn’t it every day
You see three spears
On a roof rack
Travelling up the motorway?
Don’t tell me, as your foot hits the floor.
There’s a sword sticking out of my front door.
You know it’s true – given half a chance
I’d use it on you.

Get out of my lane,
You little pain,
If you wish to survive.
I have a big axe
On my back seat
That would look great in your backside.
Don’t ask me what we need those shields for.
We’ve dealt with prats like you before.
You know it’s true – given half a chance,
I would slay you too.

I’m a Viking – I like fighting.
Give me another – chance to draw blood.
Please don’t swerve or be disturbed.
I’ll only maim – on Sunday.

Oh, you can’t tell that it’s against the law.
can’t help it there’s nothing I want more.
I would fight with you, I’d vie with you,
Aim and fire at you, and then you’d die too.
You know it’s true – drive in front of me
And I will slay you.

Rising After Noon
Words modified somewhat by me
(To the tune of The Rising of the Moon)

Now then somewhere deep in slumber is a group of well grown men
You will see they are brave warriors if they ever wake again
We have orders from the Treefrog we’re supposed to fight real soon
Oh won’t someone wake the Welsh up, ’cause it’s almost half past noon
‘Cause, it’s almost half past noon, it is almost half past noon
Oh won’t someone wake the Welsh up, ’cause it`s almost half past noon

Tell me someone, won’t you tell me, where the practice is to be?
The arena or the field there, quite close to the LHE
One more warrior emerges, asks why practice is so soon.
‘Cause the times Frog picks for training, they are always before noon
They are always before noon, they are always before noon
‘Cause the times Frog picks for training, they are always before noon

If the Welsh get it together we’ll kill friend and foe alike
Many a Welsh voice will be moaning ’bout that long pre-battle hike
And now here we are at practice, mumbling out a gold song tune
Half the Welsh have made it so far and it’s only half past noon
Oh it’s only half past noon, oh it’s only half past noon
Half the Welsh have made it so far and it`s only half past noon

Then we have the fluffy girlies who are awfully shy with men
Well they may be shy the first time but they’re never shy again
Death to every foe and traitor, now we’re going to fight real soon
Now the Welsh have it together even though it`s way past noon
Even though it’s way past noon, even though it`s way past noon
Now the Welsh have it together even though it`s way past noon.

The Sick Note: Reenactors Version
Words by me
(To the tune of Murphy and the Bricks)

Dear Sir, I write this note to you to tell you of my plight
For at the time of writing, I am not a pretty sight
My body is all black and blue, my face a deathly gray
And I write this note to say why I am not at work today.

While fighting in a battle fierce, I thought us free and clear
But to stand and face the boarsnout down was not a good idea
The Penteulu stepped out of the way, he is an evil sod
And I was left there staring at this armoured Norman squad.

Now the boarsnout started running, they started off quite slow
I thought that I could hold my ground, the fight I’d not forego
But in my haste to have a scrap I was too blind to see
That deBec all armoured in their mail were heavier than me.

And so I stood there boldy as towards us deBec sped
I should have got out of the way and run to hide instead
They bore down like a rocket, till my dismay I found
That with them half-way there I met the horseshit on the ground.

Now the shoes that I was wearing, were very close to dead
And when I reached the shit, well, through all the holes it spread
I swore out loudly, not best pleased, with shit upon my toe
And the boarsnout kept on coming fast to my increasing woe.

Now when I got my foot out of the shit, back on the floor
I then thought of the boarsnout and looked up at them once more
Still clinging tightly to my shield, and starting to regret
And that was when the boarsnout and our shieldwall finally met

Now the force of this collision half way ‘cross the battle site
Sent me flying through the air and gave me quite a nasty fright
Still clinging tightly to my shield, I fell towards the ground
And I landed once more on the shit the horses had scattered round.

I lay there groaning on the ground, I thought I’d passed the worst
But the boarsnout hit my flat-out corpse and down they went headfirst
A shower of Normans fell on me, I didn’t have a hope
As I lay there bruised upon the ground by the arena rope.

Now the public thought this quite a joke, they laughed and called for more
I didn’t think it funny as I lay there on the floor
I’m bruised and bumped and grazed as well and I can only say
I hope you’ll understand why I am not at work today.

Bad Shots
Words by me after a particularly unfortunate battle practice.
(To the tune of Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes)

Head, elbows, knees and toes, knees and toes,
Head, elbows, knees and toes, knees and toes,
Oh why do people aim their blows
At my head, elbows, knees and toes, knees and toes!