Norse of Course

One skald, two skald,
Young skald, dead skald.
This one wrote a mighty ode.
This one took his ship and rowed.
Say! What a long way he rowed!

Yes, some are young and some are dead.
Some are very seldom read.
Some are sad. And some are glad.
And some are very, very bad.
Who was the saddest, baddest one?
His name was Egil -- Skallagrim's son.

Egil was a cranky one.

He killed people just for fun!
When Egil was a boy, his dad
Said, Never, ever make him mad.
Egil did not like to lose
And those who beat him got contused.
The other boys let Egil win
So that he would not do them in.
Mom said, Our son is brave and true,
But dad did not know what to do.
What will he ever do for work?
Don't fret, said Mom -- he'll go berserk.

Egil's brother Thorolfur
Was handsomer than him by far.
Egil and his brother fought
They fought an awful, awful lot.
Thorolfur would always say,
I wish that you would go away.
I do not like you, Skallagrimsson.
I do not like what you have done.
I think you really are a skunk
And even worse when you are drunk!
They fought and fought and fought and fought.
The more they fought, the worse it got.

... And when Egil and his brother fight
It's called a nasty Norsky battle
And when they battle in a hurry,
It's a nasty hasty Norsky battle.
And when nasty hasty Norskies battle
With paddles in a murky puddle,
They soon get in an awful muddle:
A nasty hasty Norsky murky puddle paddle battle.
And soon each other they are striking
Til dad says, Time to go a'viking!

Egil liked his brother more
When he saw what viking had in store.
Egil burned some barns and farms.
Farms with barns, sir! Barns on farms, sir!
Did them very deadly harm, sir!
Silly Egil had to learn
First you loot, and then you burn.
Egil sailed up and down
Egil sailed round and round.
Egil gathered loot in sacks, sir,
Racks of sacks and box of rocks,
Lots of pret-ty shiny rocks.
Egil liked his box of rocks
And closed it up with lots of locks.

The brothers fought for the English king
They thought this was a dandy thing.
They fought the Scots, sir,
Lots of Scots, sir,
Lots and lots and lots of Scots, sir!
But that day Egil's brother died
And Egil cried and cried and cried.
(But first, he killed himself some Scots:
Lots and lots and lots more Scots!)

One skald, two skald,
Young skald, dead skald.
But look, sir, just what is a skald?
Is he someone somewhat bald?
Skald he was, sir, bald he got, sir,
He wrote ken-ning clever lines, sir.
Rhymes with lines and lines with signs.
Long-lined sing-song wing-ding rhymes.
He liked lines with jigs and wobbles.
He liked many syllabobbles.
He could write a nifty verse
He could write a nasty curse.
He could tell a lengthy tale
He could drink a lot of ale.
Tales of ale, sir, without fail, sir,
Up until his ship set sail, sir.

After Egil died, they found
His big skull buried in the ground.
Skapti took his mighty ax
And gave the skull a couple whacks.
But after all, that helm's-rock skull
Only made the ax get dull!
Why was his skull so very crusty?
Maybe because the ax was rusty?

So now you've heard my tale of Egil
As many rhymes as I can finagle.
But you know what's very, very scary?
I mean very, very, VERY SCARY?
When the Norsemen heard the awful story
Of Egil's deeds so grim and gory
That I have told you of today
They would clap their hands and say:
Egil, son of Skallagrim:
I want to grow up just like him!

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