There is a man you hear about
Where folks are making free,
He comes from Pocateloo,
An' his name is Rapparee
And he hasn't got much money
But he doesn't just much care,
'Cuz the thing he likes to do the best
Is put out that hot air.

I made friends with Rapparee
And I took him on for fair
And we'd spar and banter loudly
'Til the quiet folks would stare
He would put out lists of sources
Of repute, renown and fame,
ANd was often known to post them up
Signed by someone   with his name.

He would generate translations
From the Aramaic tribe
Or the Mandarins of China
FUll of hexadecimal jibe
And he'd fill you with quotations,
Boys it's wholly plain to me
That there never was a scholar born
Could BS like Rapparee.

Well we tried to make him quiet, boys
But he argued in a way
That drove the MOAB upward
To the realms of Fifty Kay
And if BS overwhelms me,
And I'm ever forced to flee,
Lock the leather mask upon his face,
But give Stilly Sage the key.


Arduino Mayquer
Novo Ballads of the Novo Oueste
Braken, Wynde, and Denayenit, Chicago, 1976