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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.





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