Brenda Sutton, of the filk group "Three Weird Sisters," wrote a song called "Mama's Hands." It's a pretty song about a woman who realizes that as she grows up, she starts to sound a lot like her mother--and maybe her mom was wiser than she thought as a teenager.

I was thinking one day about whether that song could be gender-swapped...and realized that it could, and what it would be. This came out.

I just now performed it on the main stage at OVFF, with Brenda and her husband Bill in the audience. They (along with most of the room) were in stitches.

“Father’s Words”
by Will “scifantasy” Frank
ttto: “Mama’s Hands” by Brenda Sutton

Today while commuting some moron cut me off
And I vented my frustration to his rear
Then suddenly I grinned, for I knew the words I said
Were words my mother would not want to hear.

Those are my father’s words, my father's lines
Those are my father’s curses, yes they are
And from my open mouth his angry voice comes out
And I’m sounding just like Dad when in the car.

“Where’d you learn to drive, you asshole! Get out of my way!”
“If you try to merge right now, then there’ll be hell to pay!”
“Why is it all the fucking nuts are on the road today?”
My father taught me all the swears I know.

I remember as a child that I promised to my mother
I would not repeat bad words that I heard
But my father hated traffic, and his language got quite graphic,
And I listened and I learned all his best words.

That is my father’s “shit!” and my father’s “fuck!”
I even have his accent--and his ire
I’m getting more like him, I even roar like him
And I’m feeling now his angry driving fire

“Use your goddamn blinker, jackass, that is why it’s there!”
“You must have known this crap at one point, do you just not care?”
“All these assholes on the road, I’m tearing out my hair!”
My father taught me all the swears I know.

Father, oh Father,
You always let bad traffic get you wound
And Father, oh Father,
It seems the more I’m on the road, the more like you I sound

I’m told that there’s a special curse that every father teaches
A legacy passed down from son to son,
But my dad yelled so many curses while he was driving,
So I’m not sure which is the special one.

That is my father’s “damn!” and my father’s “bitch!”
I even have his hair--or lack thereof!
He didn’t show emotion, so he couldn’t say he cared,
But each curse he taught me told me of his love.

“Wake up, moron, stop your drifting, get into your lane!”
“Get off the phone, you goddamn bastard, what are you--insane?”
“I hate to drive in Boston, it’s such a fucking pain!”
My father taught me all the swears I know.

Those are my father’s words, my father's lines
Those are my father’s curses, yes they are
And from my open mouth his angry voice comes out
And I’m sounding just like Dad when in the car.