Sorry bish, your link didn’t work.  Arr, there be no hard feelings, arr.  Where be my grog, wench?

We sail the seas for
wenches and rum, but only
find an albatross

Real pirates don’t be
wearing Maybelline or blush
Johnny Depp is gay

Everyone join in
arr, or I be tellin’ the
tale of two kitties

And that’s kitties as
in felines, whiskers and tu-
na breath, not hoohas.

Mmmm. Tuna breath.

I keep a close watch on this rum-full tank
I keep on my shoulder my parrot Hank
But for you I be swimmin’ til I sank

For you to thank
I’s walk the plank

I find meself sailin’ this sea-wide blue
I find meself rainin’ a ship or two
All night I be dreamin’ of my wench true

For you to thank
I’d walk the plank

‘Neath the stars my mateys they be drinkin’
He be whipped, of me they thinkin’
Yarr, I confess, my mind it be kinkin’

For you to thank
I’d walk the plank

For you to thank
I walk the plank

With apologies to Johnny Cash.

That be lovely. Your poetry is yar!

This Just Be To Say

I be raidin’
the ship
that be
in the North sea

and which
you were
maybe savin’
for your wench’s birthday

But arrgh!
the bounty was gleamin’
so helpless
and so close

(and your wench
be uglier than
me matey’s arse)

(I SO wish I had my WCW volume here.  I could do this all day.)

so much depends
upon

a red sailing
vessel

glazed with mutineer’s
blood

beside the kegs of
grog

My prose be admittedly glib
but avast ye scurvy wenches
I like the cut of your jib

p.s. I’ll be Captain Slappy fer the rest of the day.

If I a true pirate be
I would make me foul pig-noise
makin’ matey
walk the plan

the plan? is that ‘k?

There once be a pirate of rank,
Fat Jerome, big as a tank
But then he got fussy
o’er a bacon clad hussy
So now he be walkin’ the plank

There once be a wench named Bess
who loved the pirate’s caress
she lifted her skirt
let every mate spurt
Now her clam it be a mess

The treasure it be buried at sea
Sailing after it went us three
One of us drowned
The other one frowned
and the third one just played with his wee

O’er this pirate there be a big hex
That could only be cured by buttsecks
He look’d f’r a wench with a warm rectum
who wouldn’t infect him
But only found a bugger named Rex.