Here you will find some of the drinking songs of the Riverlands.
Catryn's Jousting Song
Composed by Catryn Taken on March 9th of 290, at the tournament for the wedding of Young Lord Stafford Groves and Aeliana Ashwood.
My Lords and Ladies of the Joust,
I pray forgive for I am soused!
But in this most auspicious hour,
The vanquished threats our hosts devour.
The ride to see who is the best,
Who's lance will pass this lordly test!
Ser Erik's lance did take a beating,
Repeatedly shattered, but never fleeting.
Ser Ivar rode, in deep cups froth,
His Cuckold cuts, our lord made wroth!
And as Ser Winterbright fell to the Young Lord's Spear,
More challenges were soon made here!
Ser Rivers rode, to Lannister's wishes,
But fell too short, kept best to washing dishes.
The Rock of Seagard proved his mettle,
But lost to Jast, the dispute found settle.
Giantsbane as well, rode forth on steed,
But failed to match our champion's speed.
So down it came to only two,
A ride to see who's aim was true;
The Great Ser Jast, or Stafford Groves
An answer only the Warrior knows!
But we will see, before our eyes,
Just where the great God's prowess lies.
To know for ourselves, who is the best.
May the most hung, win the test!
Men of Stonebridge
Composed by bard Aylene Sedley in late August 289, it is said to be an adaptation of an old Blackwood marching song.
Verse 1
Men of Stonebridge, march to glory,
Victory is hov'ring o'er ye,
Bright-eyed freedom stands before ye,
Hear ye not her call?
At your sloth she seems to wonder;
Rend the sluggish bonds asunder,
Let the war-cry's deaf'ning thunder
Every foe appall.
Echoes loudly waking,
Bridge and fields are shaking;
'Till the sound spreads wide around,
The Charlton's courage breaking;
Your foes on every side assailing,
Forward press with heart unfailing,
'Till invaders learn with quailing,
Stonebridge ne'er can yield!
Verse 2
Thou, who noble Stonebridge wrongest,
Know that freedom's cause is strongest,
Freedom's courage lasts the longest,
Ending but with death!
Freedom countless hosts can scatter,
Freedom stoutest mail can shatter,
Freedom thickest walls can batter,
Fate is in her breath.
See, they now are flying!
Dead are heap'd with dying!
Over might hath triumph'd right,
Our land to foes denying;
Upon their soil we never sought them,
Love of conquest hither brought them,
But this lesson we have taught them,
"Stonebridge ne'er can yield!"
((Adapted from "Men of Harlech", lyrics written by John Oxenford. http://youtu.be/i-FZsAX8Puk))
Stonebridge Moon
Oh come tell me Riverlander, come tell me why you hurry so
Husha boy ye blander and listen, his cheeks were all a glow
I bare orders from the captain get you ready quick and soon
For the pikes must be together by the rising o' the moon!
By the rising o' the moon, by the rising o' the moon
For the pikes must be together by the rising o' the moon!
And come tell me Charlton where the gath'rin is to be
At the old spot by the river quite well known to you and me
One more word for signal token whistle out the marchin' tune
With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon!
By the rising o' the moon, by the rising o' the moon
With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising o' the moon!
Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through the night
Many a manly heart was beating for the blessed warning light
Murmurs rang along the valleys to the banshees lonely croon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising o' the moon!
By the rising o' the moon, by the rising o' the moon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising o' the moon!
All along that singing river that black mass of men was gathering too
High above their shining weapons flew their own beloved Highfield blue
Death to every foe and traitor! Whistle out the marching tune
And hurrah, for tak'n Stonebridge, 'tis the rising o' the moon!
'Tis the rising o' the moon, 'tis the rising o' the moon
And hurrah for tak'n Stonebridge, 'tis the rising o' the moon!
(Sung to the tune of 'By the Rising of the Moon' and composed by Arthfael)
Lord Jerold's Lament
O the Boys of House Terrick
Are pretty and feckless
Pretty and feckless
Pretty and feckless
The Boys of House Terrick
Are pretty and feckless
What's a poor father to do?
The eldest was raised to be
Jerold's successor
Jerold's successor
Jerold's successor
But the young lord is not even
Jerold the Lesser
What's a poor father to do?
Surly and foolish
Mimping and weak
His brain's unemployed
When he hastens to speak
The Boys of House Terrick
Are pretty and feckless
What's a poor father to do?
The bastard was raised to be
Sword of the Tower
Sword of the Tower
Sword of the Tower
You'll find him out whoring
At any odd hour
What's a poor father to do?
Charming and comely
He's up to his balls
In some pretty young thing
'Stead of manning the walls
The Boys of House Terrick
Are wanton and reckless
What's a poor father to do?
The youngest was raised up to
Replace his brother
Replace his brother
Replace his brother
The smart one among them
Must take after his mother
What's a poor father to do?
The only real man poor
Lord Jerold's produced
Might be less a leg
But can still rule the Roost
The Boys of House Terrick
Are pressed at the border
Pressed at the border
Pressed at the border
The Boys of House Terrick
Born in the wrong order!
O, what's a poor father to do?
Send A Raven
Everyone knows when a raven goes by
And you see those black wings outlined 'gainst the sky
They must carry words of the utmost import
Ciphers and plots, the most intricate sort.
But recently, I heard some news that inspired!
A Young Lord whose fortunes had been all Hag's Mired
Needed advising, and here is thing:
The boy sent a raven right straight to the king!
Not to the Maester did his raven go
Castellan, secretary, librarian — no!
Not even the King's Hand was given the task
Of conveying the question Lord Jaremy'd ask
The raven flew high and the raven flew true
Straight to King's Landing as it ought to do
And with its dire message for Robert, alone,
It lit on the arm of the famed Iron Throne!
"WHO LET THIS BIRD IN? I THINK IT JUST SHAT!"
"It is from Jaremy Terrick, your grace…"
"WHO IS THAT?"
"A young lord of the Riverlands who desires to know
"How your beard is so splendid, for his will not grow."
"OH, IS THAT ALL?" said the generous king,
"BY ALL MEANS, SEND MY BARBER, S'A TERRIBLE THING!
"TO BE WITHOUT WHISKERS — AN UNTHINKABLE FATE —
"HE WON'T MAKE THE SEVEN, MUCH LESS THE EIGHT!"
The moral of this story is: there's no too-small a thing
No woe or worry trivial to our beloved king!
Be you smallfolk or nobility, if you have a dreary task
Let King Robert do it — all you have to do is aaaaaaask!
So if your horse has thrown a shoe, send a raven!
(Send a raven!)
If you're coming down with flu, send a raven!
(Send a raven!)
King Bob has naught at all to do
But beck and call for me and you
So if you haven't got a clue, send a raven!
Good King Robert's barber
Could not even begin
After he'd seen Jaremy Terrick
To put whiskers on his chin
But when he told King Robert
What really was the cause
Bob sent what the lad really lacked:
A pair of hairy baaaaalls!
Asides:
(He does have six to spare, you know…)
(And of course he sent them by raven!)
So if some sack is what you lack, send a raven!
(Send a raven!)
Pulled a muscle in your back? Send a raven!
(Send a raven!)
If you're feeling kind of blue
Or stuck in an endless queue
Do what the Terricks do and SEND A RAVEN!
Should I Fall
If I should fall from Warrior's grace
Where no septon can relieve me
If I'm buried 'neath a stone
But the Seven won't receive me
Let me go, boys
Let me go, boys
Let me go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry
This land was always ours
Was the proud land of our fathers
It belongs to us and them
Not to any of the others
Let them go, boys
Let them go, boys
Let them go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry
Bury me at sea
Where no Stranger's ghost can haunt me
If I rock upon the waves
Then no corpse can lie upon me
It's coming up three, boys
Keeps coming up three, boys
Let them go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry
If I should fall from Warrior's grace
Where no septon can relieve me
If I'm buried 'neath a stone
But the Seven won't receive me
Let me go, boys
Let me go, boys
Let me go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry
(This is a Westeros-modified version of this song.)
Ninety-Nine Problems
If you're having girl problems,
I feel bad for you son
I got ninety-nine problems
And a wench ain’t one
Tip my hat to the sun in the west
Feel the beat right in my chest
At the crossroads a second time
Make the Stranger change his mind.
It's a pound of flesh but it's really a ton
Ninety-nine problems
And a wench ain’t one
If you're having girl problems
I feel bad for you son
I got ninety-nine problems
And a wench ain’t one
Ninety-nine problems
But a wench ain’t one.
Like broken glass under my feet
I could lose my mind in this heat
Looking for the prize but I don’t want blood
I order one drink then I drink the flood
Well, you can come inside but your friends can’t come
Ninety-nine problems
And a wench ain’t one
If you're having girl problems
I feel bad for you son
I got ninety-nine problems
And a wench ain’t one.
(A Westerosi-modified song based on Hugo's 99 Problems)
Recruiting Serjeant
A song popularized on the Cape of Eagles after Robert's Rebellion. Sung to the real-world tune of The Recruiting Sergeant
Two recruiting serjeants came to the C. O. E.,
For the sons of the eagles, to join the Blue Fishies
So all hands enlisted, five hundred young men…
Enlist you Riverlanders and come follow me
They crossed the sandy Red Fork at the broad Mummer's Ford,
And at the Stony Sept, they entered into hell
And with those bloody bells, the first of them fell…
Enlist you Riverlanders and come follow me
CHORUS:
And it's over the rivers, and over the plains
Come brave Riverlanders and join the Blue Fishies
You'll fight the Drag'n at the Bells, and at the Trident, see
Enlist you Riverlanders and come follow me
The call came from Riverrun, for the last bloody drive
"To the van with the levies, prepare yourselves to die"
The roll call next morning, just a handful survived.
Enlist you Riverlanders and come follow me
CHORUS
The dock men on Water Street still cry for the day
When the pride of this city went marching away
A thousand men slaughtered, to hear the Tully say
Enlist you Riverlanders and come follow me
CHORUS (x2)
Enlist you Riverlanders and come follow me
Damn It Feels Good To Be A Nayland
Sung to the tune of This:
Damn it feels good to be a Nayland.
Damn it feels good to be a Nayland,
A real high class lord wears a Harpy crest.
A real high class lord, gone passing out pikes,
Cause real high class lords choose conquest.
And nobles sometimes gotta kill fools.
All because the smallfolk be stealing.
But real high class lords score coups.
Cause real high class lords keep winning.
And everything's good back home in the Mire,
Where some high class nobles been born.
I Reach Beyond My Grasp, and I train another army,
Cause a high class noble preps for war.
And all I got to say to you outwardly, cowardly,
Usurper-loving, bastard-birthing high hands:
When your peace runs out what the fuck you gonna do?
Damn, it feels good to be a Nayland.