Thought this up the other night.
“O Come Gather Round To My Voice As It Here Sounds”
(To the tune of “Grandfather Clock” by Cecilia Eng. Which is apparently a rewrite of Henry
Clay Work's 1876 song "My Grandfather's Clock")
By = Tristan A. Arts (Fayanora)
Oh come, gather round,
To my voice as it here sounds
For a tale that you all need to hear.
It's about boys and girls
All over the world
And also, 'tis about genderqueers.
For some folks, old or youth,
Misbelieve they know the truth,
Thinking gender's just about what's in your fly...
They are. The. Gender-police-and-we'll-obey
Or we all. Shall. Die.
Now some feel grief
And a lot of disbelief
When told that they must be a boy.
It tears them apart,
Since they know in their heart
That this must be some sort of ploy.
And when they do come out,
Their loved ones scream and shout,
Yelling out to the star-studded sky:
“We are. The Gender-police-and-you'll-obey
Or you all. Shall. Die!”
When girls dress as boys,
Play their games, play with their toys,
“Tomboy” is the label they're called.
If they insist all their days
That is ISN'T just a phase,
They're ignored, or strongly stonewalled.
Or else, they're called sick,
Since all boys must have a dick,
“What are you, some kind of a dyke?
We are. The Gender-police-and-you'll-obey
Or you all. Shall. Die!”
And then there are some
Who don't fit in either one,
Neither boy, nor are they a girl.
They try to fit in,
And they're told they're full of sin,
And some nasty folks even hurl.
If you're genderqueer,
Your life is full of fear,
For many cis scum want you to fry.
They are. The. Gender-police-and-we'll-obey
Or we all. Shall. Die.
Dating is hell
When you're genderqueer, as well,
It's a gamble, each person you yap.
Either fetishized by swine,
Or kicked in the spine
For being what they call a “trap.”
Or worse, in its way,
Is the person that is gay
But wants only a cis-gender guy...
They are. The. Gender-police-and-we'll-obey
Or we all. Shall. Die.
Life as a genderqueer
Is so full of things to fear,
We're the target of such violent hate.
They deny us our voice,
And they say this was our choice,
As if all the hell we go through is so great.
They say that we're strange
But it's they who are deranged
If they think that our gender's a lie...
But they are. The. Gender-police-and-we'll-obey
Or we all. Shall. Die.
For reference, the (real) original song (I couldn't find Cecilia Eng's version at all):
This was cross-posted from http://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1102755.html
You can comment either here or there.
(To the tune of “Grandfather Clock” by Cecilia Eng. Which is apparently a rewrite of Henry
Clay Work's 1876 song "My Grandfather's Clock")
By = Tristan A. Arts (Fayanora)
Oh come, gather round,
To my voice as it here sounds
For a tale that you all need to hear.
It's about boys and girls
All over the world
And also, 'tis about genderqueers.
For some folks, old or youth,
Misbelieve they know the truth,
Thinking gender's just about what's in your fly...
They are. The. Gender-police-and-we'll-obey
Or we all. Shall. Die.
Now some feel grief
And a lot of disbelief
When told that they must be a boy.
It tears them apart,
Since they know in their heart
That this must be some sort of ploy.
And when they do come out,
Their loved ones scream and shout,
Yelling out to the star-studded sky:
“We are. The Gender-police-and-you'll-obey
Or you all. Shall. Die!”
When girls dress as boys,
Play their games, play with their toys,
“Tomboy” is the label they're called.
If they insist all their days
That is ISN'T just a phase,
They're ignored, or strongly stonewalled.
Or else, they're called sick,
Since all boys must have a dick,
“What are you, some kind of a dyke?
We are. The Gender-police-and-you'll-obey
Or you all. Shall. Die!”
And then there are some
Who don't fit in either one,
Neither boy, nor are they a girl.
They try to fit in,
And they're told they're full of sin,
And some nasty folks even hurl.
If you're genderqueer,
Your life is full of fear,
For many cis scum want you to fry.
They are. The. Gender-police-and-we'll-obey
Or we all. Shall. Die.
Dating is hell
When you're genderqueer, as well,
It's a gamble, each person you yap.
Either fetishized by swine,
Or kicked in the spine
For being what they call a “trap.”
Or worse, in its way,
Is the person that is gay
But wants only a cis-gender guy...
They are. The. Gender-police-and-we'll-obey
Or we all. Shall. Die.
Life as a genderqueer
Is so full of things to fear,
We're the target of such violent hate.
They deny us our voice,
And they say this was our choice,
As if all the hell we go through is so great.
They say that we're strange
But it's they who are deranged
If they think that our gender's a lie...
But they are. The. Gender-police-and-we'll-obey
Or we all. Shall. Die.
For reference, the (real) original song (I couldn't find Cecilia Eng's version at all):
Click to viewThis was cross-posted from http://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1102755.html
You can comment either here or there.