Th� Dry Blow
copyright 1998, R.E.Dalton
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 buzzlin� grew.
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 wind th� meather,
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.
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