One of the other things that House Silver Heron is somewhat known for is our practice of praising the reigning King and Queen of the Eastern Realm by singing to them, as a household, an old and glorious song which proclaims Their, um, greatness! to all Their subjects (or at least those within earshot).

Thanks Be to God for Royalty

Thanks Be to God for Royalty, see the royal stance.
No one laughs at Royalty when They wear tight satin pants.
Kings are always regal men, in this we do trust,
So why must our King always drag his knuckles in the dust?

Chourus:
Lift your goblets and raise your voices,
Sing out loud and strong!
For God created Royalty,
And God is never wrong.

Thanks Be to God for Royalty, though Thier tastes we doubt,
Noone but the royalty could savor a raw trout.
The royal pallate hard to please, the evidence is plain,
Feeding those of royal blood can be a royal pain!

Chourus

Thanks Be to God for Royalty, inbred though they be,
Sitting on Their gilded thrones, drooling in Their tea.
(Z) is grandson to (X), (Y) came in between.*
We think that's who the fathers are, but glory to the Queen!

Chourus

Thanks Be to God for Royalty, lecherous though They be,
Who else boasts of chastity with a wench upon each knee?
Kings have pleasures weare told, this is plainly true,
But why must our King's battle cry be "Spank me til I'm blue!"

Chourus
Chourus

*This verse changes each reign to accomodate the present and recent royalty. "Z is grandson to X" can change to "Z is the grandson of X" to adjust for diferent length names. Due to the curiousities of Eastrealm succession, it is occasionally sung "x is his own grampa, y is son and dad".

Over time, members of House Silver Heron have gained a certain amount of fame/notoriety for the performance of other particular ditties which we have learned, filked, been taught, modified, collected, scammed, created, archived, and/or out-and-out stole (but only from those we truly love and respect). Here follows some of them in no particular order.

Pity the Poor Little Werewolf
Unknown? - Modified
The full moon is rising, I feel it tonight.
My hair is all messed up, my nails are a fright.
My clothes are all now thirty sizes too tight,
Oh, pity the poor naked werewolf.
Chourus
Growl! Run! Howl at the full moon!
I can't get it right, I don't know why i try.
Soon the moon will be rising,
Oh, pity the life of a werewolf.

My allergy tablets are making me dry,
It's better than sneezing, whem I'm on the sly.
My fur stuffs my nose up and waters my eyes,
Oh, pity the poor sniffly werewolf.

Chourus

My friends are all laughing, they think it's a lark,
To run with a werewolf who's scared of the dark,
But this little wolfie got mugged in the park,
Oh, pity the poor battered werewolf.

Chourus

Werewolves are supposed to be f'rocious and mean,
Do things to their victims which seem... quite obscene...
But this little wolfie thinks salads are keen!
Oh, pity the poor Vegan werewolf.

Final Chourus

Howl! Run! Growl at the full moon!
Still can't get it right, but i guess i'll still try.
'Cuz now the moon is rising,
So I'll try to go be werewolf.

That's it!

Call the Charge: Ateno's Song
To the tune of "Strike the Bell." Traditional whaling chanty.

Up in the front line, keeping sharp lookout,
There stands Ateno, ready for to shout.
The battle it is raging and into fray we'll barge,
Just as soon as he makes up his mind to call, call the charge!
Chourus
Call the charge, Ateno! Let us go and play!
Look to the battle, dead midrealmers walk away!
Our weapons are at your command, spear, halberd, sword and targe,
But we're wishing that you'd hurry up and call, call the charge!

Back in the ranks, a bit, there Sir Sirhan Stands,
Leaning on his halberd with steel mittened hands.
And all of this a'waiting 'round is getting on his nerves,
'Cuz he can't go play 'whack-a-mole' while we're in reserves!

Chourus

Also in the back ranks stands Sirhan's squire, Jiro,
Armed with a great-sword, and ready for to go!
He is a giant samurai to whom battle is fun,
But even he starts flagging when his brain bakes in the sun!

Chourus

Up in the front line, protecting our squad,
Stands noble Derek, his shield-edge rather gnawwed,
And the expression on his face is sure not one of glee,
For apparently the allies failed to hear "Bag limit THREE!"

Chourus

Down the shield-wall, a bit, our valient leader stands,
Viceroy by title, our Baron Ian.
He is a doughty soldier, but his years and waste grow large,
So he's thinking more of "On one knee!" than "Call, call the charge!"

Final Chourus
Call the charge, Ateno! Let us go and play!
Look to the battle, dead Midrealmers gone away!
Our weapons still at your command, spear, halberd, sword and targe,
But we're wishing that you'd hurried up and called, called the charge!

Last modified July 11, 2000.

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