A Pain in the Futtocks
A ghostly galleon sailed the waves
Upon a silvered sea
A spectral figure manned the helm -
Post captain Jack Aubrey.
The futtock shrouds hung limply down
A ghost crew jigged below
Upon a weathered oaken shelf
Not unlike an orlow.
A demon fiddler played them on
They durst not ever stop
And that is why they called that tune
Orlop Until You Drop.
From through the lubber's hole, a cry
Ahoy, ahead a rock
Oh no, it's just O'Brien
Writing even more old cock.
Some fo'castle say he's very good
They like this poop deck pap
But frankly, shipmates, in the Main,
I find it total crap.