Gather round lads and lasses
with tankards of rum
and I’ll tell ye a tale tall and true,
Of a great ship that set out
to pillage and burn,
with the dread Cap’n Conor and crew.
The crew had been gathered
from far and beyond,
the Captain had sent out a missive -
they’d must be decked out
in their finest attire
(the Kiwi was even imprissive).
Poop deck was scrubbed clean
and plank polished smartly
(ye’ll never get splinters on this, mate),
the cannonballs were
even rubbed long and hard,
they’ll shine as they turn ye to shark bait.
The cook had been locked
in the galley all week,
because the smart Captain be knowin’
that mutinous plans
are not often made
when fine grub be plentifully flowin’.
The crew they were gettin’
three sheets to the wind,
and sharin’ their plunderin’ tales,
(except for Slim Jim
who had given up grog,
and now takes fat tourists to whales).
The lookout was taking
a caulk in the crow’s nest,
the enemy ship was soon there,
the Cap’n thought quick,
she grabbed for her cutlass,
and smartly leapt through the dark air.
Her cutlass was sharp,
but her wits they were sharper,
the crew looked on and were elated.
The three chocolate layers
put up a good fight
but soon they were sliced up and plated.