Uploaded March 2021 | Updated September 2026, 1 hour ago

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Don't Ask track 12. Thanks to rocketman0739 for providing high-quality versions of these songs.
Download the album here: archive.org/details/filk_dont_ask
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Lyrics:

“Matty Groves” is a great old traditional song, and lots of people ask for it. The big problem with “Matty Groves” is, it's big. About four hundred and seventy verses. Fortunately, with a little creative editing, it can still be chopped down to a reasonable size...say, talking blues?

One high, one holy holiday, on the first day of the year
Little Matty Groves to the church did go, some holy words to hear
When in come old Lord Arnold's wife, and she looked at him and said
“Come here often? What's your sign?” and off they went to bed.

In the interests of brevity, I'll omit some of the more disposable parts of the song. Like the section where they get undressed...all forty-seven verses of it.

Now old Lord Arnold he had a page, and when he saw what they had done
He said, “I'd better tell the boss!” and he began to run
He ran through the briars and he ran through the brambles
And he ran through the bushes where a rabbit couldn't go
Ran so fast that the hounds couldn't catch him
Down the Mississippi to the—you get the idea.

Next morning the happy lovers awoke, took one look at who was standing at the foot of the bed, and said “Ohhhh...shit.”

“Rise up, rise up now, Matty Groves, put your clothes on quick as you can
Never let it be said in all Scotland I slew a naked man!
And ye shall have the better sword, and I shall have the worse
And I shall strike the second blow, for ye shall strike the first!”

Stupid Scottish twit. Again in the interests of brevity, I will omit the section where Matty, for perfectly obvious reasons, takes his own sweet time about getting dressed again...all forty-seven verses of it.

Now the first blow little Matty struck, it hurt Lord Arnold sore;
The second blow Lord Arnold struck, little Matty stood no more.
Lord Arnold felt about himself to see where he'd been cut
He looked, and found to his surprise he'd lost his...you-know-what.

And he said “Ohhhh...shit!”

Now if he hadn't let Matty Groves strike first, he'd never have lost his dong,
And if she hadn't let the pageboy know, you'd never have heard this song.
But now they sit at home a lot, becoming nervous wrecks,
Which goes to show discretion is the better part of sex.

Moral of the story? Be good. If you can't be good, be careful. And if you can't be careful, try to keep it down to five or six verses, huh?