There's the half-wit hotel management
And all their front-desk flunkies
Who cannot read a contract
Or ignore it if they do
Can't understand the spirit of compulsive volunteering
It's from them I would expect to hear
The N-word, not from you
We sit down to have a chat
It's N-word this and N-word that
We need volunteers to work and organize and go-fer
And I don't want to hear you use the N-word with your con chair.
There's the folks in con security,
The Klingon/Dorsai crossbreeds
With their rampant paranoia
And their fascist leanings too
Banning any kind of weapon
And each weapon simulation
It's from them I would expect to hear
The N-word, not from you
There's the mundane folks with whom we share
The hotel function spaces
The herds of middle managers,
A wedding group or two
Not to mention the convention
Of the Southern Baptist bishops
It's from them I would expect to hear
The N-word -- and lots of other words! -- not from you
There's the BDSM players
With their bags of strange equipment
The clamps and chains and leather
And the chocolate-flavoured glue
If it's painfully erotic
And by mutual consent --
It's from them I would expect to hear
The yes-word, and from you...