...don't encourage him...
The Wench and the Pyrate-Guy went to sea
In a three-masted schooner-type boat:
They made off with honey,
and stole lots of money
And even a twelve-year-old goat
The Wench looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pyrate, O Pyrate, my love,
What a scarred-up ol' Pyrate you are,
You are,
You are!
What a scarred-up ol' Pyrate you are!"
Pyrate said to the Wench, "Your elegant stench,
Makes me want to sit up and sing!
Oh! let us be buried;
'tis better than married:
But how shall we do keelhauling?"
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Pubbie-Tree grows;
And there in a wood a Rumba-wig stood,
With a ring at the end of her nose,
Her nose,
Her nose,
With a ring at the end of her nose.
"Dear Mod, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?" Said the Rumba, "I can't."
So they took it anyway, and were harried next day
By the Admin who lives on raw ants.
They dined on mice and hamster (just a slice),
Which they ate with a stolen gold spoon;
And hand in hand on the oily black sand
They danced like a hairy baboon,
Baboon,
Baboon,
They danced like a hairy baboon.