ARRRGGGHHH pieces... ye 'ave hinspired me wonce agen...
Let's 'ave it lads fer black bartholomew
Fer 'twas 'e hinvented thee Fish'ead Stoo.
Thart majickyl eelixer, thee cure fer awl;
male patten bawldness; strip paint from a wall.
Ov its endless virtues Oi heered a cove rant.
[Sez pieces besoid me "E's prolly a plant!"]
An' still thee crowde it greww n' it greww
[Wear these pyrates come frum nobody neww]
Ov bart one arrfta thee otha they lyrickly wax'd
Til awl rose as one wiv bart on there backs
and wiv one Moighty Voice as one they did sing
"Wotcha reckon lads, will we make 'im ower King?"
Twas decidered bart's crownin twould be an affair
Thar was midgits, an' wenches, the FSM Oi do swear!
"A natcheral King... nay a God threw n' threw!"
"E's much too good fer me an' fer you!"
And as they placed thee crown down on 'is 'ead...
bart woke wiv a start, e'd fell owta bed...
Sow if moi storey 'as meanin or moral it seams
Wen bart's tellin tales say "Yair roight... in yer dreems!"
Send lawyers, guns and money...