The Ballad of Han Genre Words: Gary McGath, Copyright 2025 Music: The Ballad of John Henry, traditional

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When Han Genre was a little boy D A7 He was already one of the fans. D G He started a zine and told everybody, D A D Bm Gonna be a tale-writing man, word, word, D A D Gonna be a tale-writing man."

The editor said to Han Genre, Gonna bring that A. I. round. Gonna put that bot out on the job, Gonna set its stories down, word, word, Gonna set its stories down.

Han Genre said to the editor, Well, a man ain't nothin' but a man. And before I let a robot take my place Gonna die with a keyboard in my hand, word, word, Gonna die with a keyboard in my hand.

They put Han Genre on a deadline, Set him with a plot to write. The deadline tight, he kept writing all night, Till he laid down the mouse and he cried, word, word, He laid down the mouse and he cried.

Han Genre said to his proofreader, "Proofreader, why do you sob?" "I'm being replaced with a grammar checker, And I'll soon be out of a job, word, word, I'll soon be out of a job."

The coders who made that A. I. bot Said it worked just the way it should. It spewed out fifteen stories, While Han Genre wrote one that was good, word, word, Han Genre wrote one that was good.

Han Genre looked at the potboilers That the bot churned out with no pride. He read over the rot which the editor bought And he fell on his keyboard and he died, word, word, He fell on his keyboard and he died.

They took Han Genre to the bookstore, Carried by six strong fans, They buried him there where all would declare, "He was a tale writing man, word, word, He was a tale writing man."