I'm My Own Grandpa (Er, Great-Grandsire)

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by Betsy Hanes Perry

It sounds twisted, quite true,
It could happen to you,
I'm my great-grandsire.

I'm my sire's sire's sire.
(We mostly just say 'sire'.)
It sounds twisted, quite true,
And so what else is new?
I'm my great-grandsire.

Now, many, many years ago, (or so my elders say),
A princess fair met an Irish oaf and stole him from
the day.
She carried him off, he carried her on, they carried
the demon stamp,
And then they carried out their plan, and poof! I was
a vamp.

My Sires were most neglectful, and they laughed my
thoughts to shame,
So I set out to find a knight, and found him, fish
aflame.
I made him what he is today, and how did he requite?
He allied with the nasty Slayer, abandoning my fight.

Then I ran off to old Brazil (a girl must have her
fun),
And thought about the men I'd lost, and thought about
the sun,
And thought about the Fisher King, and thought a few
things more,
And then an evil law firm sent a strange ambassador.

So I packed up my crimson best, and, travelling after
dark,
I made my way to far LA. I learned the vital spark
Was reinfused into the dust my grandsire'd left
behind,
Restored to life, not undeath! She was part of
humankind.

A girl must have her fun, I say, and I was running
low.
My Childe gone south, my Sire gone good, and now the
final blow!
But (with some help from W&H) I came and set things
right.
I Sired my straying grandmother, and brought her back
to night.

So I'm my sire's sire's sire,
Yes, I'm my great-grandsire.
You may say it's impure,
But we'll make Springer for sure,
I'm my great-grandsire.

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