A priest of Pocharngo, when I was three,
Turned me into a gorp, but I didn't appear to be...
With the power of Wakborh and a love of chaos ooze.
Now, I don't blame him cause he run and hid,
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me Yag.
Well, he must o' thought that is was quite a joke,
And it got a lot of laughs from the scorpion folk.
It seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some broo would giggle and I'd get red,
And some ogre'd laugh and I'd bust his head.
I tell ya, life ain't easy for a gorp with legs.
Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean, My ectoplasm got hard and my wits got keen. I'd roam from hollow to Marsh to hide my shame. But I made me a vow to the gods of chaos That I'd search the chaos nest, the Pass. And kill that Priest that give me that humanoid shape.
Well, it was Paragua's in Winter Fertile And I just hit town, and my throat was dry. I thought I'd stop and kill myself a few. At an old marketplace on a street of mud, There looking at the stall and looking good, Came the Bison Riding dog that's called 'Eugenia Primrose'.
Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet doom
>From the way he was sniffing my chaos perfume,
And I knew that spit on his horned helmet and his evil eye.
He was big and fierce and hairy and bold,
And I looked at him and my ooze ran cold,
And I said: "Your name is 'Eugenia Primrose!' How do you do! Now you gonna
die!"
Well, he hit me hard right between the eyes,
And I went down, but, to his surprise,
I come up with a slurp and slimed his legs.
But I busted acid right across his teeth
And we crashed through the stall and into the street
Kicking and enveloped in the mud and the blood and the fear.
I tell ya, I've fought tougher men,
But I really can't remember when,
He kicked like a mule and he burned like Oakfed.
I heard him laugh and then I heard him cuss,
He went for his weapon and he scorned me to ash,
He stood there lookin' at me and I saw him smile.
And he said: "Gorp, this world is rough, And if a Gorp's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough, And I know you wouldn't be there without your disguise. So I curse you and burn you and I say begone! I knew that I'd have to be tough or I'd die, And it's the Storm Bull that helped to make me strong."
I thought: "Now you just fought one hell of a fight,
And I know you hate me, and you got the right
To kill me now, and I wouldn't blame you if you do.
But ya ought to thank me, before I die,
For the gravel in ya guts and the spit in ya eye
Cause I'm the son-of-a-bitch that named you 'Eugenia Primrose'."
He got all choked up and he threw down his sword
And he called on Waha! and he called his Bull's Son,
And he went away with the wrong point of view.
And I think about him, now and then,
Every time I try and every time I win,
And if I spawn more gorp and they're shaped just like men I think I'm gonna
name them
Karawaha or Elboi! Anything but Eugenia Primrose! I still hate that name!
My shaman left camp when I was three,
And he didn't leave much to Ma and me...
Just the wisdom of Waha and a hatred of chaos ooze.
Now, I don't blame him cause he run and hid,
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me 'Eugenia Primrose'.
Well, he must o' thought that is was quite a joke,
And it got a lot of laughs from a' lots of folk.
It seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some gal would giggle and I'd get red,
And some guy'd laugh and I'd bust his head.
I tell ya, life ain't easy for a boy named 'Eugenia Primrose'.
Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean,
My fist got hard and my wits got keen.
I'd roam from plain to plain to hide my shame.
But I made me a vow to the spirits of the stars
That I'd search the greatlands, the Pass..
And kill that man that give me that awful name.
Well, it was Paragua's in Winter Fertile
And I just hit town, and my throat was dry.
I thought I'd stop and kill myself a broo.
At an old marketplace on a street of mud,
There at a table, dealing goods,
Sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me 'Eugenia Primrose'.
Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet Yag
>From a worn-out old knot that my mother'd had,
And I knew that scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old,
And I looked at him and my blood ran cold,
And I said: "My name is 'Eugenia Primrose!' How do you do! Now you gonna
die!"
Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes,
And he went down, but, to my surprise,
He come up with a knife and cut off a piece of my ear.
But I busted a stick right across his teeth
And we crashed through the stall and into the street
Kicking and a' gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer.
I tell ya, I've fought tougher men,
But I really can't remember when,
He kicked like a mule and he bit like a crocodile.
I heard him laugh and then I heard him cuss,
He went for his weapon and I pulled mine first,
He stood there lookin' at me and I saw him smile.
And he said: "Son, this world is rough,
And if a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough,
And I know I wouldn't be there to help ya along.
So I give ya that name and I said good-bye.
I knew you'd have to get tough or die,
And it's that name that helped to make you strong."
He said: "Now you just fought one hell of a fight,
And I know you hate me, and you got the right
To kill me now, and I wouldn't blame you if you do.
But ya ought to thank me, before I die,
For the gravel in ya guts and the spit in ya eye
Cause I'm the son-of-a-bitch that named you 'Eugenia Primrose'."
I got all choked up and I threw down my sword
And I called on Waha! and he called me his son,
And I come away with a different point of view.
And I think about him, now and then,
Every time I try and every time I win,
And if I ever have a son, I think I'm gonna name him
Borabi or Orgwaha! Anything but Eugenia Primrose! I still hate that name!
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