We head for the coast for some turkey and wenches
And to wash up our laundry because of the stenches
We dream of the stuffing and cranberry sauce
We're tired of roasted rat and albatross
Another week's journey in front of us lies
Until we score eggnog and fresh pumpkin pies
And loosen the buttons on our pantaloons
To make way for girth added on with our spoons
A norther has blown for the last several days
And the vanishing larder lends a tone of malaise
Everyone jealously guards the small tins
That hold the remains of the crumble kake in
A small open vessel has given us chase
A crazy old bastard with ice on his face
Instead of a ship's wheel, he has handlebars
And a triple 8 flag riding high on the spars
Duane cuts the wheel and Hap reefs the sails
While I fill the cannon with lead and pipe nails
Rosenthal calls to the now halted rig,
"State your intent or dance the hempen jig!"
"I mean you no harm. I'm half froze to death."
We followed the billows he made with his breath
"They tell me the Frigate be takin' on hands
And sailing off smartly to faraway lands."
He boarded the vessel with a cob and a tin
We knew right away he'd likely fit in
Anthony broke out our best cleaning fluid
His training assigned to mate prariedruid
We all resumed stations, re-hoisted the sails
As visions of unicorns danced on the rails
The Cap'n regained our course on the wheel
We resumed our pursuit of a holiday meal
:
