Lyrics © 1986 Michael Rubin and Crystal Hagel
Tune: either "Lord of the Dance" or "Simple Gifts"

Chorus:
Crash, crash, wherever you may be,
The con suite is closed, it's a half past three.
But I'll sleep with you if the closet is free,
For they're out of space at the con, said he.

There's fans on the sofa and there's fans on the bed
Except for the snoring you'd think that they were dead.
And more folks on the floor, over whom I just fell
'Cause it's ninety bucks a night at this hotel.

Chorus

The nearest outside food is a ten-mile trip;
The bouncing potatoes are twenty bucks plus tip.
No snacks in the snack bar, empty Coke machines in halls,
And the fans are eating soap and the paper off the walls.

Chorus

This hotel was built for yuppies, they don't like fans at all;
We don't shop at the boutiques in their yuppie mall.
The yuppie staff all sneer at the weird costumed fen;
I know of one hotel that won't see a con again.

Chorus