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Verse   |   Political, Satirical and Frivolous Verse   |   Epigrams   |   Daddy Is a Spaceman   |   Tory Songs By Sundry Hands
Tory Songs By Sundry Hands

Air: “Austria”
Lyrics by Susanna R. A. Miller
(Expanded from lyrics by The Rev. Charles A. Dinkler)

Glorious things of thee are spoken,
Charles the wearer of our crown,
For thy sceptre ne’er was broken,
Nor thy throne e’er battled down.
True-born kings are ne’er cast under
By the means the Roundheads chose;
Even though they rant and thunder,
Thou may’st smile on all thy foes.

Hapsburg, Stuart, Bourbon, Romanoff -
Where are our men great as those?
All we get are unleashed peasants,
Incompetents irrationally chose.
Such petty tyrants, egalomaniacs,
Loosed into the masters’ beds.
How can we expect our liberties
When the masses can’t use their heads?

Naught’s been gained by revolution;
Levelers, grovel in your graves!
Ye who sought the institution
Of a freedom that enslaves
Shall receive no absolution
While St. George’s banner waves!
Always shall we shun pollution
From your swarms of traitor knaves!

In his cornfield, Periander
Nipped the barley stalks, ‘tis said.
Each that stood o’er others grander,
Leveled, lost its golden head.
Thus do tyrant and supplanter
Strive to fill the world with dread.
Yet in vain their toadies pander -
Crown and Right shall ne’er lie dead!

Cavaliers and loyal Tories,
Like the ivy, ever cling
To the past’s untarnished glories!
To the Right we drink and sing.
Fie on modern Liberal mores -
Sovereignty’s a finer thing!
Nobler monarch e’er reigned o’er us:
Charles the Blessed Martyr - King!


Air: “Bonny Dundee”
Lyrics by Kevin J. McKeegan

To the men of the caucus old Tommy Veal spoke:
“All the laws have gone down; all the rules have been broke.
We’ll stand no more for this E-Committee;
We’ll found a new party and call it Tory.”

Come fill up your glasses; come drink down your wine.
For cowards and lackeys the PoR’s fine,
But all men who love freedom and hate tyranny
Belong in the Party that is called Tory!

Now rises up Argyll and takes to the floor:
“Of Smith’s petty games I’ll not have any more!
We must stand together for our liberty
Preserved in this party that we name Tory.”


McKeegan was chosen to lead this brave band.
He stood up before them and raised his right hand:
“By God and our honor we’ll fight slavery
With this new party that we name Tory.”


Seminara stepped forward; his name he did sign.
Then Garner and Ross, Tharp, Dinkler and Fine,
Pledged to opposing all cruel mastery,
Pledged to the party they have named Tory.


The faint distant trumpets that tyrants now hear.
Dobbs quakes in horror; Smith shudders in fear.
There stands a new party of men who’ll live free,
A party that bears the proud name of Tory!

Come fill up your glasses; come drink down your wine.
For cowards and lackeys the PoR’s fine,
But all men who love freedom and hate tyranny
Belong in the Party that is called Tory!


Air: “C’est Moi”
Lyrics by James H. Ditkoff

A son the GOP should be conservative
And envy the government of Franco Spain,
Be irrelevant to his time,
Tight-fisted to a dime,
And do everything a monarchist should do.

A son of the GOP should be conservative,
Think thoughts that a Dixiecrat would never dare,
But where in the world is there in the world
A man so reactionnaire?

C’est moi! C’est moi! I proudly reply.
I’m much too noble to lie.
The man in whom these qualities bloom,
C’est moi, c’est moi, ‘tis I.

I never would stray from all I believe
To vote for a moderate bill.
If I had run against FDR,
We’d have the Depression still!

C’est moi! C’est moi! Right wing till I’m dead.
To me Bill Buckley’s a Red.
So here I stand, the sole of the Right,
Unwilling to yield, but eager to fight,
To fight for the GOP! C’est moi!


Air: Traditional (among Tories, that is)
Lyrics by Robertson G. Morrow, III, Joseph C. Smith, Jr. and the Edmund Burke Society of the University of Chicago

To Edmund Burke we raise our glasses up!
Damn the French, call the wench,
Bring up another cup
To pass around until we call for more.
Toast the Queen! Drink the Green!
Raise a raucous roar!

Tradition! Tradition!
Raise the cup high, and DON’T ASK WHY!
Tradition! Tradition!
Ours but to do or die.

Heretics beware!
Remember Neitzche’s dead.
It’s no fluke; like the Duke
Of Cambridge always said,
“All change is bad. Progress is perverse.”
Restore the Crown! Sing a round!
Another solemn verse:

Tradition! Tradition!
Raise the cup high, and DON’T ASK WHY!
Tradition! Tradition!
Ours but to do or die.

[The third stanza, beginning, “Ten thousand ‘men’ of Harvard”, is clever in its way but not suitable for reproduction on a family-oriented Web site.]


Air: “Ode to Joy”
Lyrics by Frank A. Dobbs

Rum’s the stuff for swinish fellows.
We have tasted Paradise:
Wrapped within a silver chalice,
Champagne, creme de menthe and ice!

Lost elections, gross defections,
Chairman flunking out of Yale.
There is no one to replace him;
All the best are locked in jail.
Droop the Party standard lower,
Yet it shall not touch the ground.
While we still have nights at Mory’s,
Pass the greenish cup around!

Hail our Chairman! Hail our Party!
Hail us stout and righteous men!
Flee the wiles of wilful Fortune -
Drain the greenish cup again!

Days of weeping? Nights unsleeping?
Broke up with your Vassar chick?
Got an Aggie Maggie haggy,
One embrace to make you sick?
Grades are falling? Dean is warning?
Army’s got you written down?
Once more ‘fore the world weeps sorrow,
Pass the greenish cup around!

Hail the men who fight for freedom!
Hail the stout, conscripted men!
Before we have to go and join them,
Drain the greenish cup again!

Asia’s falling, Europe’s calling,
New York City we can’t save;
Cannot trust the State Department -
Every one’s a Commie slave!
While we pay outrageous taxes,
Socialism’s creeping down.
Still can joyous lads and lasses
Pass the greenish cup around!

Weep for Russia, weep for China,
Weep for verdant droplets spilt.
We sha’n’t weep for blood or country
While the greenish cup is filled!

Harken all ye heathen masters!
Drink makes mortal man a god.
In the halls of bright Olympus,
Never dwelt so sweet a cup.
In the doom of dark-ruled Hades,
We have known Elysium.
In the land of grief and shadow,
Pass the greenish cup around!

Drain once more the silver chalice;
Drink until all sorrows end.
Not until we feast in Heaven
Shall we know such drink again!


Air: “Pomp and Circumstance”
Lyrics by Brian H. Phipps

Teddy Kennedy lost weight;
     He’s thinner than O’Neill.
Cuomo dodges morals gracefully.
     Bob Dole makes a deal.

George Bush waits in the basement.
     Pat Robertson’s speaking in tongues.
Jack Kemp slides to the center -
     Only Barry sticks to his guns!

They say Reagan was too old,
     But, hey, it’s never too late.
Although it may be long overdue:
     It’s Barry in ‘88.
If the Twenty-Second ain’t repealed,
     It’s Barry in ‘88!


Air: “Battle Hymn of the Republic”

We’ll gladly hang Bill Clinton to a sour apple tree.
His impeachment will not fill the bill for folks like you and me.
We don’t like his feminazi boss who’s known as Hillary,
     As we go charging off!

Charging off in all directions, killing Cabinet selections,
Democratic vivisections, as we go charging off!

Billy didn’t go to Vietnam. We know that he was wrong.
With Billy in the White House no longer are we strong.
He’ll just sit out on the South Lawn with his lips around a bong,
     But he will not inhale!

Air: “The Gambler”
Lyrics by D. Mark Renaud

On a cold winter’s evening,
On a walk down old York Street,
I met up with the Chairman.
We were both too tired to think.
So we walked into Mory’s
In order to get some Welsh rarebit.
The Party overtook us,
And he began to speak:

“Well, I’ve made a life out
Of debating with the liberals,
Knowing how to check their facts
And turning them all red-faced.
So if you don’t mind my saying,
I can tell by your faces,
If you’re quiet for a moment,
I’ll make the first toast tonight.”

Mr. Waltz handed him the Green Cup,
And he drank down the first swallow.
Then he passed it to Mr. Gizis
And asked him to do the same.
And the night got unusually quiet,
And his face looked emotional,
Said, “If you’re going to Tory toast,
You’ve got to learn to do it right:

“You’ve got to know when to toast them,
Know when to joke them,
Know when to sing a song,
And realize when you’re through.
You must toast ol’ Ronnie
When you’re sitting in the Front Room.
There’ll be time enough for the British
Before the evening’s done.”


Air: “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen”
Lyrics by Max J. Ruttger

God rot ye libertarians; you fill us with dismay:
Your atheistic tendencies, your anarchistic way,
Your flaunted immorality leads innocents astray,
But you’ll get yours on Judgment Day, Judgment Day,
Yes, you’ll get yours on Judgment Day!


Air: “As Time Goes By”
Lyrics by Kevin J. McKeegan and Robert J. Seminara

You must remember this:
Gin's better than a kiss,
And nothing's quite like rye,
The alcoholic things of life,
As booze flows by. . . .

And when two drinkers booze,
You know Mory’s will lose,
If one of them is I -
The alcoholic things of life,
As booze flows by. . . .

Bourbon and ginger, never out of date;
Glasses of old-fashioned won't ever have to wait;
At three in the morning, for booze it’s not too late -
There’s no need to run dry. . . .

It’s still the same old story:
I pay no bills to Mory’s.
On that you can rely. . . .
Come, join me for a nightcap now,
As booze flows by.

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