Piratic Poetry

[Detective TurtleHolmes]

There once was a young lass from Nantucket.
She sold herself to a man named Mustaphet.
But when he introduced him to his son,
She saw he had a boil on his johnson,
But she just said: "Oh, f*** it."

[black bart]

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear...alright we've succumbed to the Nantucket temptation but at least no one has used 'Prickwillow' (England) or Tittisee (Germany).

[Zankou 2.0]

That limerick sucked.
Haiku are much better, dude.
Now I shall say "aargh".

[Detective TurtleHolmes]

There was a fat pirate from Prickwillow.
His crew was to set sail off to Ohio.
But early one night,
There was a fight,
And a blacksmith used his rear for a bellows!

[Black Dog]

For oft upon my hammock I lie,
Dreaming of some inner thigh,
Knowin' that with such ease,
My scurvy'd lips could her's so please.

Aaargh! Pass me the rum.

[Detective TurtleHolmes]

Here ye go, matey. Jus' parse it back when ye be done.

I knew a man once from Tittisee.
He dreamed of sailing the sea.
Unfortunately for him,
He lived in a bin,
His name was Black Bart, see?

[DaveL]

'If I had a cannon'

If I had a cannon
I'd fire it in the morning
I'd fire it in the evening
All over this land
I'd fire out grape shot
I'd fire out iron chain
I'd fire the love between my brothers and my sisters
All over this land

If I had a parrot
I'd feed it in the morning
I'd feed it in the evening
Poop all over this ship
I'd borrow a big cork
And I'd plug up Polly
I'd plug the love between my brothers and my sisters
All over this land

If I had a Fifi's Gold Pass
I'd use it in the morning
I'd use it in the evening
All over this land
I'd spank out danger
I'd whip out a warning
I'd beat out love between my brothers and my sisters
All over this land

Well I've got a cannon
And I've got a parrot
And I've got a Fifi's Gold Pass
For all over this land
It's the cannon for murder
It's the parrot for pooping
It's the song about love between my brothers and my sisters
All over this land

[pieces o'nine]

Ennybodie ear seen me ole fren' WalkThePlank?
Kin ye tell me wear he's gone?
He shotta lotta peepul, but hit seames theyre harts go on,
Ye no oi jest look'd arownd an he be gone.

Ennybodie ear seen me ole fren' Cronan?
Kin ye tell me wear he's gone?
He touch'da lotta peepul but hit seems they drownd an gone,
Ye no oi jest look'd arownd an he be gone.

Ennybodie ear seen me ole fren' Big Ron?
Kin ye tell me wear he's gone?
He fedda lotta peepul but hit seems theyre casings arrre awl gone,
Ye no oi jest look'd arownd an he be gone.

Dint ye luv thee fings that they stoode fore?
Dint they trye t' find sum goode fer ye an me?
An' we'll go to sea,
Sum daye soon, hit's gonna be wun day...

Ennybodie ear seen me ole fren' thee Mayor?
Kin ye tell me wear he's gone?
Oi thought oi saw 'im staggerin' t' thee Benbow,
Wiv WalkThePlank, an Cronan, an Ron.

[black bart]

Arrrrgh it brings a tear ta me good eye that one does...

[pieces o'nine]

Charge ov thee Loight Brigayde
Alfred, Cap'n Tennis Sun

Haf an arrrrrgh, Haf an arrrrrgh,
Haf an arrrrrgh onworrrd,
Awl in thee galley ov Death
Rowed thee six hunnerd.
"Forworrrrd, thee Loight Brigayde!
Aim fer thee gunwales!" he sayde:
Inter thee galley ov Death
Rowed thee six hunnerd.

"Forworrrd, thee Loight Brigayde!"
Be theyre a mate dismaid?
Not tho thee pyrates new
Sumwun 'ad blunnerd:
Theyres not t'axe 'im why,
Theyres not t'mayke reply,
Theyres but t'dew an' dye:
Inter thee galley ov Death
Rowed thee six hunnerd.

Cannon to thee roight ov 'em,
Cannon to thee left ov 'em,
Cannon in thee front ov 'em
Volleyed and thunnerd;
Storrrrm'd hat wiv shot an shelled,
Boldly they rowed an wailed,
Inter thee jaws ov Death,
Inter thee mouf ov Hell,
Rowed thee six hunnerd.

Flashin theyre cutlas bare,
Flashin theyre arse in aire,
Stabbin thee blaggarrrds there,
Drunkin an barmy woile
Awl thee worlde wunnerd:
Plungin' thru bat-tree smoke,
Roight thru thee loine they broke;
Cronan an Borat
Reeled frum thee cutlass-stroke
Shatterd and sunnerd.
Then sum rowed back, but not--
Not thee six hunnerd.

Cannon to thee roight ov 'em,
Cannon to thee left ov 'em,
Cannon in thee front ov 'em
Volleyed and thunnerd;
Storrrrm'd hat wiv shot an shelled,
Boldly they rowed an wailed,
Inter thee jaws ov Death,
Inter thee mouf ov Hell,
Rowed thee six hunnerd.

When can theyre trezshur fayde?
Oh, thee wylde charge they mayde!
Awl thee worlde wunnerd.
Onner thee reck they mayde!
Drinke t' thee Loight Brigade,
Nobil Six Hunnerd!

[black bart]

Flashin theyre cutlas bare,
Flashin theyre arse in aire,

Aarrrgh, lucky that be that way round! Twood not be a pretty soight ovverwise.

[pieces o'nine]

Flashin theyre cutlas bare,
Flashin theyre arse in aire,

Aarrrgh, lucky that be that way round! Twood not be a pretty soight ovverwise.

Arrrgh. War be hell.

[black bart]

Ode to a Portsmouth Wench

Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?
Not really for ye are quite damp
From standin ere long under that street lamp
Still more's the pity
Ye aint too pretty
But for a half a groat
I'd shag a stoat

[pieces o'nine]

* This'un shood be sung sweete an mornful, loike. Mebbe jest afore last caul. *


Cronan be smokin furst pype ov thee mournin.
'Is crewe 'as awoken, loike thee furst crewe.
Arrrgh fer thee wenches, arrrgh fer thee trezshur,
Arrrgh fer thee riggin awl covert in dew.

Sweet thee round balls shoot, out frum thee cannons
Loike thee furst arrrrdinance an thee furst gun.
Arrrgh fer thee big holes fillin wiv gallons
Ov water in theyre ships, wen 'e be dun.

'Is be thee darknesse, 'is be the coldnesse,
Down on thee sea floore, ware Cronan dwells.
Arrrgh wiv elayshun, eache daye ye don' see 'im
Boredin yer vessel an steerin fer hell.

[black bart]

* This'un shood be sung sweete an mornful, loike. Mebbe jest afore last caul. *


Cronan be smokin furst pype ov thee mournin.
'Is crewe 'as awoken, loike thee furst crewe.
Arrrgh fer thee wenches, arrrgh fer thee trezshur,
Arrrgh fer thee riggin awl covert in dew.

Sweet thee round balls shoot, out frum thee cannons
Loike thee furst arrrrdinance an thee furst gun.
Arrrgh fer thee big holes fillin wiv gallons
Ov water in theyre ships, wen 'e be dun.

'Is be thee darknesse, 'is be the coldnesse,
Down on thee sea floore, ware Cronan dwells.
Arrrgh wiv elayshun, eache daye ye don' see 'im
Boredin yer vessel an steerin fer hell.

Now that's brilliant. I shall Conatct Cronan imself via me new ouija board/spirit world (spirit world? arrrgh that's appropriate).