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~ By Courtesy of Others ~

 

The Thong of Thor       The Thong of Thor MP3

Tune: "The Girl I Left Behind Me", first print version 1810 (Dublin)

In days of yore, the great god Thor would ramp around creation.
He'd drink a pint and slay a giant and save the Nordic nation,
Or kill a Worm to watch it squirm and vainly try to fang him,
Or lock up Loki in the pokey and on the noggin bang him.

Once he did bawl through Thrudvang Hall that on a trip he'd wander
In a disguise from prying eyes, in Midgard way out yonder,
So all his slaves, huscarls and knaves, packed up his goods and gear, O,
And off he strode, on Bifrost road, a perfect Aryan hero.

In Midgard land he joined a band of hardy Viking ruff-i-ans,
And off they sailed and rowed and bailed among the auks and puff-i-ans.
Whene'er they'd reach a foreign beach they stopped to raid and plunder;
Each Nordic brute got so much loot their longship near went under.

But as they rolled in coins of gold, they had one joy forsaken,
For on each raid Thor's party made, no women could be taken.
Each drab and queen fled from the scene when Viking sails were sighted,
And Thor felt the need for certain deeds that had gone unrequited.

Thor's brows were black as they went back to Oslo's rocky haven;
Unto his crew he said, "Beshrew me for a Frankish craven
"If I don't wrench some tavern wench, or else may Frigga damn her."
Replied one voice, "You got first choice; you've got the biggest hammer."

Into an inn that crew of sin disembarked upon their landing,
Each tavern maid was sore afraid of pirates of such standing.
But golden coins warmed up their loins and the ale soon ran free;
Thor's motley crew poured down the brew and made an all-night spree.

Thor's glances strayed unto a maid with hair as gold as grain,
A lisp so shy, a downcast eye, and not a trace of brain;
He swept her charms into his arms and to an upstairs bower,
And did not cease nor give her ease for six days and an hour!

When he rose up and drained a cup, she looked like one that's near death:
Her limbs were weak, she could not speak, and only gasped for her breath.
"You ought to know, before I go, I'm Thor," he bade adieu.
"You're Thor!" said she. "Conthider me! I'm thorer, thir, than you!"

John Boardman

published in: "The Spell of Conan", Ace Books 1980 (a collection of essays, poems and fiction)

Image: "Thor", Carlshamns Commersen (www.commersen.se)
Voice/recording: Michaela Macha

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