by John Norman-Greenbaum

In another world in the days of yore

I snuck a peek inside the world of Gor

I thought I'd seen all I abhore

Until I saw them lying on the floor

The vile Sweatsocks of Gor.

Wove of the wool of an abus'ed sheep

They stunk of her masters wet slimey feet

I ran far away, but still they did reek

Oh, my god! if only I hadn't peeked

At the vile Sweatsocks of Gor.

When Jason sought out the great golden fleece

Clipped from the hide of an ovian beast

He never dreamed, he did not in the least

Smell the infection caused by too much yeast

The vile Sweatsocks of Gor.

Her master said they would make her complete

If she'd bow down and kiss her master's feet

The socks had been worn for 17 weeks

Burned holes in marble and smelled of bad meat

The vile Sweatsocks of Gor.

Invaders came down from far to the north

Into the land the crusaders set forth

To capture women and destroy the source

That darkened the air and sickened the horse

The vile Sweatsocks of Gor.

The catapults fired all 'round the heads

Of the invaders, now missing their beds,

Sweatsocks were landing and stank of old Keds

Collapsed the lungs of invaders, now dead

The vile Sweatsocks of Gor.

So now to celebrate, ev'ry new year

Sweatsocks are used to brew Gorean beer

And to strain the juice for Gorean wine

Although the odor will make you go blind

The vile Sweatsocks of Gor.