Hatten down th’ batches, boys, there’s gonna blee a bow. 
Th’ mazzen mist is mizzen, an’ th’ spanker’s spankin' low. 
Th’ riggin’s gittin’ ragged, an’ th’ rog is rutten too, 
The anchor’s on th’ bawttom, an’ th’ captain’s guzzlin’ brew. 
                                                 
Th’ mirstly fate is loaded an’ th’ bosun’s got th’ gout, 
Th’ mainlymast is splittin’ an’ th’ jib is juttin’ out. 
Th’ girlywhig is twirlin' in t’ make a spotter wout, 
An’ th’ gavinator’s got his pomcass spinnin’ all about. 
                                                 
Th’ helmsman’s got th’ coopin’ hough, an’ ever’time he wheezes 
Th’ rudder does a flip-flop amid th’ balmy breezes. 
Th’ rats are runnin’ rampant down inside th’ holdy mold, 
An’ th’ crotley mew was never known t’ do what it was told. 
                                                 
But leep a kiffened upper stip, an’ never mind th’ weather, 
We’ve got the upper hand boys, if we can stick together. 
Don’t shurry ‘bout th’ wip, boys, or how th’ storm has got ‘er, 
Just think of how bad off we’d be...if we were on th’ water.






 Page 6 .....
 Cobble of Tonpents.....
 Page 8.....



                 

                 

                 
                 

                 

                 Sign
                 My Guestbook
                 
                 View
                 My Guestbook