David SmithWhite

Rookie (270552 / Australia)

A Sea Shanty


'The Seaman's Tale'

Ho, the Mate of the 'Sleazy Sausage',
was a sheila called Laurel O'Keefe.
As round as a bun, with the face of a nun;
with cheeks as bright as a burning sun
or a barrel in skin-tight briefs!

Oh Laurel O'Keefe! Oh Laurel O'Keefe!
The thief of every heart.
Oh Laurel O'Keefe, it is my belief,
you stole mine from the start!

One winter's day, we sailed away;
a-heavin' homeward bound.
But we came to grief, when we struck a reef,
an' all on board, 'cept Laurel O'Keefe,
an' me, an' Saul, is drowned!

For Saul an' me, an' the Mate, yer see,
we climbs on a lump of coral.
An' there in the heat, we suffers a treat;
for several months we beat our meat,
with nothin' at all but coral to eat;
for Laurel thought oral, immoral!

Oh Laurel O'Keefe! Oh Laurel O'Keefe!
I'd put my horse before her cart.
Oh Laurel O'Keefe! Could give relief,
if she so, chose to impart.

But me and Saul, we couldn't crawl,
to the Mate at any cost.
We was both as weak, as a gruel of leek,
while that there Mate was a cruel freak;
when we played her game, we lost!

Says Saul to me, she's a misery,
despite her eyelid's flutter.
Whatever we do, here's me an' you,
us both as warm as Irish Stoo,
while she's like frozen butter!

Oh Laurel O'Keefe! Oh Laurel O'Keefe!
My love tore me apart.
Oh Laurel O'Keefe! You bared your teeth,
an' I saw your female arts.

Then late one night, we wakes in fright,
to see by a pale blue moon,
that the Mate had got, in her private slot,
a Mermaid's mouth an' tongue so hot,
an' this puzzlin' gizzard is eatin' the lot,
on top, as Laurel swoons!

Now Saul an' me, can never agree,
what happened to Laurel O'Keefe.
The whole affair, just sounds like bunk,
but Saul will swear, by all gods punk,
that all we heard was a garbled grunt;
though I think meself, in the subsequent funk,
that her bein' sober, an' us bein' drunk,
an' in the midst of all the pushin' and shovin', the c**t,
well, she musta fell off the reef!

Oh Laurel O'Keefe! Oh Laurel O'Keefe!
My compass marks the chart.
Oh Laurel O'Keefe, your loss, my wreath;
my guilt, a poisoned dart!

Oh Laurel O'Keefe! Oh Laurel O'Keefe!
The thief of every heart.
Oh Laurel O'Keefe, it is my belief,
you stole mine from the start!

Submitted: Thursday, February 26, 2009

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