WOAD WARRIOR

(Tune by Valerie Housden, words by Zander Nyrond)

CHORUS
Blue paint running down my shoulders,
Blue paint dripping off my elbows and my knees.
Blue paint coming off on everything that I touch--
When this war is done, can we have a little peace?

Now our gods' tempers are notoriously short
And they fight with each other all day long.
But once in a while they gang up on some foe
Who they fancy has done them some wrong.
Now our gods could destroy them in five seconds flat
But that, after all, would not be fair:
So it's our sacred duty to smite them instead
And again the smell of woad fills the air.

And there'll be, [CHORUS]

When our gods command us to take to the field
There are certain things that we have to do.
We must strip to the buff, winter, summer, rain or shine,
And then paint ourselves all over bright blue.
I don't know how they make it, but I always know when,
For the odour alone would knock you dead,
And it takes all my courage to stand on the spot
When they pour it all over my head.

And then there's, [CHORUS]

And when battle's over and we have come home
It is then that the real fun begins:
For we've yet to invent a reliable way
Of removing the stuff from our skins.
We leave blue prints indelibly all over the place
But it doesn't seem to lessen the stain:
And a subtle blend of sand crystals, quicklime and lye
Opens up new horizons in pain.

But still leaves, [CHORUS]

Now I don't object to a good healthy scrap,
I can break people's heads with the best.
But the smell of this woad brings my hayfever on
And I get this nasty rash on my chest.
Now I know that the paint is a sacred device
So our gods above can tell which is who:
But if I have to fight with the stuff on my skin
I won't be the only one feeling blue!

When I've got, [CHORUS]