top of page

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.

 

 

 

 

​

bottom of page