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From: mert0236@sable.ox.ac.uk (Thomas Womack)
Newsgroups: rec.music.filk
Subject: Re: Banned from Argo?
Date: 3 Dec 1996 00:10:27 GMT
Organization: Oxford University, England
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References: <memo.28777@cix.compulink.co.uk><329d2fc6.12499886@news.idt.net> <57ups0$obi@vixen.cso.uiuc.edu>
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janet ann dornhoff (dornhoff@students.uiuc.edu) wrote:
: zsero@mail.idt.net (Zev Sero) writes:

: >I came into filk just *after* Banned From Argo got banned from
: >filkrooms, so it was more than a year before I first heard it 
: >sung live, and that was at the moral equivalent of a newbie 
: >session - for some reason I can't remember, I was in the 
: >filkroom *at* the scheduled start time (I'm sure it wasn't on
: >purpose), and Roberta sang it.  The only other time I've heard
: >it is when Leslie did it at Conterpoint.

: I got into filk about five years ago, and can only get to one con 
: a year, and I've *never* heard it played live.  I had to buy the 
: Star Trek Comedy tape in order to hear what the heck this song 
: was, and why people wore buttons reading "Banned from Argo" at cons.

: (Similarly, I *still* have no idea what "Eskimo Nell" is, other than 
: the tuneless snippets in DreamPark.) 

Eskimo Nell : (from http://www.erdw.ethz.ch/~hovey/zh3/songs/lied.008600.html)

When a man grows old and his balls grow cold,
And the tip of the tool turns blue,
And it bends in the middle like a one-string fiddle,
He can tell you a tale or two.

So pull up a chair, and stand me a drink,
And a tale to you I'll tell,
Of Dead-eye Dick and Mexican Pete,
And harlot called Eskimo Nell.

When Dead-eye Dick and Mexican Pete,
Go forth in search of fun,
It's Dead-eye Dick that slings the prick,
And Mexican Pete the gun.

When Dead-eye Dick and Mexican Pete,
Are sore, depressed and sad,
It's always a cunt that bears the brunt,
But the shooting ain't so bad.

Now Dead-eye Dick and Mexican Pete,
Lived down by Dead Man's Creek,
And such was their luck that they'd had no fuck,
For nigh on half a week.

Just a moose or two and a caribou,
And a bison cow or so,
And for Dead-eye Dick with his kingly prick,
This was mighty slow.

So do or dare, this horny pair,
Set forth for the Rio Grande.
Dead-eye Dick with his might prick,
And Pete with his gun in his hand.

And as they blazed their noisy trail,
No man their path withstood,
And many a bride, her husband's pride,
A pregnant widow now stood.

They reached the sand of the Rio Grande,
At the height of the blazing noon,
And to slack the thirst and do their worst,
They sought Black Mike's Saloon.

And as they pushed the great doors wide,
Both prick and gun flashed free,
"According to sex, you bleeding wrecks,
You'll fuck or you'll drink with me.

They'd heard of the prick of Dead-eye Dick,
From Main to Panama,
And with scarcely worse that a muttered curse,
Those Dingoes sought the bar.

The girls too know his playful ways,
Down on the Rio Grande,
And forty whores pulled down their drawers,
At Dead-eye Dick's command.

They saw the fingers of Mexican Pete,
Itch on the trigger grip,
And they didn't wait at a fearful rate,
Those whores began to strip.

Now Dead-eye Dick was breathing quick,
With lecherous snorts and grunts,
As forty arses were bared to view,
And likewise forty cunts.

Now forty arses and forty cunts,
If you can use your wits,
And if you're slick at arithmetic,
Makes exactly eighty tits.

Now eighty tits are a gladsome sight,
For a man with a raging stand,
It may be rare in Berkeley Square,
But not on the Rio Grande.

Now Dead-eye Dick had fucked a few,
On the last preceding night,
This he had done just to show his fun,
And to whet his appetite.

His phallic limb was in fucking trim,
As he backed and took a run,
He made a dart at the nearest tart,
And scored a hole in one.

He bore this whore to the sandy floor,
And there he ground her fine,
And though she grinned, it put the wind,
Up the other thirty nine.

When Dead-eye Dick lets loose his prick,
He's got no time to spare,
For speed and length combined with strength,
He fairly singes hair.

He made a dart at the next spare tart,
When into that Harlot's Hell,
Strode a gentle maid who was unafraid,
And her name was Eskimo Nell.

By this time Dick had got his prick,
Well into number two,
When Eskimo Nell let out a yell,
She bawled to him: "Hey, you!"

He gave a flick of his muscular prick,
And the girl flew over his head,
And he wheeled about with an angry shout,
His face and his balls were red.

She glanced our hero up and down,
Her tits were proud and high,
With utter scorn she glimpsed the horn,
That rose from his hairy thigh.

She blew the smoke from her cigarette,
Over his steaming knob.
So utterly beat was Mexican Pete,
That he failed to do his job.

It was Eskimo Nell who broke the spell,
In accents clear and cool:,
"You cunt-struck shrimp of a Yankee pimp,
You call that a 'kingly tool'?

"If this here town can't take that down,"
She sneered to those cowering whores,
"There's one little cunt that can do the stunt,
It's Eskimo Nell's not yours."

She stripped her garments one by one,
With an air of conscious pride,
And as she stood in her womanhood,
They saw the great divide.

She seated herself on table top,
Where someone had left his glass.
With a twitch of her tits she crushed it to bits,
Between the two cheeks of her ass.

She flexed her knees with supple ease,
And spread her legs apart,
With a friendly nod to the horny sod,
She gave him the cue to start.

But Dead-eye Dick knew a trick or two,
He meant to take his time,
And a girl like this was fucking bliss,
So he played the pantomime.

He flexed his arsehole in an out,
And made his balls inflate,
Until they looked like granite knobs,
On top of a garden gate.

He blew his anus inside out,
His balls increased in size,
His mighty prick grew twice as thick,
Till it almost reached his eyes.

He polished it up with alcohol,
And made it steaming hot,
To finish the job he sprinkled the knob,
With a cayenne pepper pot.

Then neither did he take a run,
Nor did he take a leap,
Nor did he stoop, but took a swoop, 
And a steady forward creep.

With piercing eye he took a sight,
Along his mighty tool,
And the steady grin as he pushed it in,
Was calculatedly cool.

Have you seen the giant pistons,
On the might C.P.R.
With the driving force of a thousand horse?
Well, you know what pistons are.

Or you think you do. But you've yet to learn,
The ins and outs of the trick,
Of the work that's done on a non-stop run,
By a guy named Dead-eye Dick.

But Eskimo Nell was no infidel,
As good as a whole harem,
With the strength of ten in her abdomen,
And the rock of ages between 'em.

She could take the stream of a lover's cream,
Like the flush of a water closet,
And she gripped his cock like a Chatswood Lock,
On the National Safe deposit.

But Dead-eye Dick could not come quick,
He meant to conserve his powers,
If he'd had a mind he'd grind and grind,
For a couple of solid hours.

Nell lay for a while with a subtle smile,
The grip of her cunt grew keener,
With a squeeze of her thigh she sucked him dry,
With the ease of a vacuum cleaner.

She performed this trick in a way so slick,
As to set in complete defiance,
The basic cause and primary laws,
That govern sexual science.

She calmly rode through the phallic code,
Which for years had stood the test,
And the ancient rules of the Classic schools,
In a second or two went West.

And so my friends we come to the end,
Of copulation s classic,
The effect on Dick was sudden and quick,
And akin to an anesthetic.

He fell to the floor and knew no more,
His passions extinct and dead,
And he did not shout as his prick fell out,
Though 'twas stripped right down to a thread.

Then Mexican Pete jumped to his feet,
To avenge his pal's affront,
With a jarring jolt he rammed his Colt,
Right up her gaping cunt.

He rammed it hard to the trigger guard,
And fired it three plus three,
But to his surprise she closed her eyes,
And squealed with ecstasy.

She jumped to her feet with a smile so sweet,
"Bully," she said, "for you."
"It's hard to believe that was the best,
That you poor cunts could do.

"When next, my friend, that you intend,
To sally forth for fun,
Buy Dead-eye Dick a sugar stick,
Any yourself an elephant gun.

"I'm going back to the frozen North,
Where the pricks are hard and strong,
Back to the land of the frozen stand,
Where the nights are six months long.

"It's hard as tin when they put it in,
In the land where spunk is spunk,
Not a trickling stream of lukewarm cream,
But a solid frozen chunk.

"Back to the land where they understand,
What it means to fornicate,
Where even the dead sleep two in a bed,
And the babies masturbate.

"Back to the land of the grinding gland,
Where the walrus plays with his prong,
Where the polar bear wanks off in his lair,
That's where they'll sing this song.

"They'll tell this tale on the Arctic trail,
Where the nights are sixty below,
Where it's so damn cold that the Johnnies are sold,
Wrapped up in a ball of snow.

"In the valley of death with baited breath,
That's were they'll sing it too,
Where the skeletons rattle in sexual battle,
And the rotting corpses screw.

"Back to the land where men are men,
Terra Bellicum,
And there I'll spend my worthy end,
For the North is calling: 'Come'."

So Dead-eye Dick and Mexican Pete,
Slunk out of the Rio Grande,
Dead-eye Dick with his useless prick,
And Pete with no gun in his hand.

Yes, when a man grows old and his balls grow cold,
And the end of his tools turns blue,
And the hole in the middle refuses to piddle,
I'd say he was fucked, wouldn't you?
--
Tom

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